Heathen Love
by SecretAnimosity
Summary: Dark!Slytherin!Harry/LV When McGonagall sees the address on Harry's Hogwarts letter, she goes to Snape knowing he has far more experience with troubled homes than she does. But how does this change the story we all know and love?
1. Chapter 1

**_Quick Author's note: I've received a lot of PM's about my other stories being abandoned and I have to say honestly, yes - they are abandoned. Those are years old and I'm just not connected to them anymore. On to this story: I own nothing, obviously, and this story is already finished in its unedited form. I don't have a beta so please overlook any errors, I do try and correct them when I find them but after so much searching you can get quite blind to them. If you point them out I'll be sure to go back and fix them. Other warnings: This story will be slash and its kinda HP/LV but also kinda HP/TMR. Basically, Voldemort won't look reptilian. Hmm, oh yes, this will be a Dark!Harry - but I think you'll like him, he's kinda playful. Well, that's about all. Thanks for reading - I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it._**

 _"We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark._

 _The real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light." - Plato_

Chapter One:

There was a long list of words that could describe the Dursleys. New words that Harry had learned just label them as they labeled him – ungrateful, vagabond, and their favorite: _freak._ Words were powerful – they clawed at Harry from deep inside his ribcage even when he tried to tell himself he didn't care. But he did care, he hated how they threw words at him and each one hurt just as much as a physical blow to the head with a hot frying pan.

But now he had weapons too, even if he couldn't use them verbosely. But just knowing them gave Harry some comfort. His uncle Vernon was nepotistic as he beamed brightly at his mindless meat sack of a son dressed in a brand new, hand-tailored Smelting's uniform complete with a wide, flat boater cap and a long smacking stick that was supposed to build character. And he was xenophobic when his gaze turned to Harry and his smile turned down into the beginnings of a sneer.

"Go help Petunia boy," he commanded with such annoyance that there was no question as to which boy the order pertained to.

Harry quietly made his way into the kitchen with a frown, comforting himself with more words. Number four, Private Drive, was not the loving white-collar family home that the Dursleys tried so hard to portray. Darkness, evil even, lived in this philistine house and much to the Dursley's dismay, it was not their orphaned nephew who they kept locked in a cupboard.

But now Harry was older, he was eleven today and was no longer the scared, frightened child he had been. He was smarter now, with new words to hurl right back and a new perspective on life. Childhood was no longer the mystical world that would never end – one day, seven years from this exact moment, Harry would leave Private Drive and he would never look back.

In order to be able to do that, however, meant making sacrifices. Like accepting that he was to be enrolled in the local public school while his cousin was sent off to a fancy boarding school. Harry knew he needed to bear his anger in silence, lest he make his situation worse by making Petunia change her mind and decide that homeschooling was best for her 'troubled' nephew.

Stonewall High would have to be good enough and Harry would have to work twice as hard but, in the end, if he pushed himself he could take his grades and get a scholarship to a college far, far away from Surrey and his rotten family. In a few years he'd have to get a job and start saving but until then, Harry knew his only job was to bear the pain in silence and do as well as he could in school so that one day, future him could look back on all the hard work and sacrifices he'd sowed and reap the rewards.

One day, everyone in England would know the name Harry Potter and his _family_ would taste ashes in their mouth when he attained the wealth and recognition that they coveted so dearly.

But for now, he had to bear his awful family in silence and comfort himself silently the only way he could – by hating them as they hated him.

"Get to peeling the potatoes," Harry was greeted by Petunia's shrill command.

She was standing over the sink with a long wooden spoon that Harry had been beaten with often as a child in one hand. In her other hand was a glass of red wine and on the window sill where the window had been cracked open, was a cigarette that was only half smoked and still burning.

As Harry grabbed the rubbish bin and set to work on peeling potatoes, Petunia set down her wine and picked the cigarette up between two nimble fingers.

There were lots of secrets in Private Drive – Harry was not the only one that had them and his wasn't even a secret, everyone knew Harry was special – or a _freak_ if you listened to the Dursleys. Petunia smoked when she knew her family wasn't looking. Vernon had had several scarlet collar affairs whenever Petunia had gone to visit her mother – Harry's grandmother whom he'd never gotten the chance to meet – and he still did whenever Petunia was away now that her mother was dead.

Dudley was still too young for any juicy secrets. There were the little boys that Dudley beat up on with his little gang of future delinquents and the odd cigarette he'd smoke that Pierce – his best friend – had nicked from his father. But nothing interesting, nothing Harry could use to his advantage yet.

"What is that?" Harry asked after a few minutes of quiet classical music playing on the radio. He gestured to the sink with the potato peeler when his aunt gave him a sharp look that told him he'd disturbed whatever private moment she'd been having.

"I'm dying some of Dudley's old clothes gray for you," she told him with a glint of something triumphant in her tone as if she were retaliating for disturbing her train of thought. "Stonewall has a dress code."

A dress code, not a uniform. Another way for her to shove his second-class status in his face. Harry didn't let it show but anger blistered just under his skin and he turned it upon a potato with the blade in his hands. It didn't matter, he told himself, clothes were just vanity and it wasn't forever – seven years, yes, but eventually he would be free.

 _Only two thousand five hundred and fifty-five days._

Harry was gouging out brown spots with the end of his potato peeler, pretending they were his aunt's eyes, when the doorbell rang. Harry's head shot up in surprise because he hadn't been aware of any visitors coming and when he looked to Petunia, she looked just as surprised as he was. Quickly she dipped the cigarette into the water where his clothes sat dying in gray, murky water and then flicked it out the window with her thumb and pointer finger – into the garden below where Harry knew he'd have to find it later and toss it properly before Vernon saw.

"Keep peeling," Petunia commanded as she flicked a wisp of strawberry blonde hair out of her eyes and straightened her apron.

Before she could leave though, Vernon was shouting and the front door slammed with such ferocity that they both heard the glass shattering. Petunia raced from the kitchen, only stopping for a half-second to grab a large knife from a wooden block on the counter, and then she swung open the kitchen door and disappeared. Harry sat still for the space of a breath and then he heard Dudley's terrified falsetto scream and then he too was jumping up and running into the hall because surely robbers wouldn't ring the bell.

"He'll not be going," Vernon growled at a tall, raven-haired man with a large hook nose and curious black robes that stood on the front porch. "I suggest you leave now or –"

"Or you'll what?" the oddly dressed man drawled with a sarcastic sneer, completely unafraid of the large, hulking Dursley.

Harry could only see the back of Vernon's large round frame now as the man moved threateningly, but he'd have been willing to bet that Vernon's forehead vein was throbbing as it so often did whenever he was truly enraged. "I demand you leave at once."

"Petunia, if you'd be so kind as to make _him_ heel," the man spoke with cold familiarity to his aunt and Harry felt his jaw drop open in surprise, "before I do it for you."

Petunia's face was ashen and as gray as the water Harry's new school clothes sat in. "Vernon," she spoke softly, fearfully, with wide eyes as her son tried to hide his immense size behind her thin, willowy frame. "Maybe we should –"

"NO!" Vernon roared, turning to look at her with a purple face. For a brief moment, Harry and the stranger with obsidian eyes locked gazes and Harry didn't know who was more surprised, him or the curious stranger, when Vernon turned on the man on the stoop and swung his fist.

Vernon's large, meaty fist missed by inches when the man in black stepped back neatly and avoided the blow. This enraged Vernon further and he shouted through the broken front door, "When we took him in we swore we'd stamp out the _freakishness._ "

All Harry's life, he'd been called a freak more times than he could count – at least five times a day ever since he could remember – because weird things always seemed to happen around him. Unexplainable things – like appearing on rooftops and jumping from trees without a single bruise. One-time Petunia had sheared off all his hair except for his fringe – to hide his hideous scar that Harry rather liked – and the next morning he had found all his hair had grown back overnight.

The instances were too numbered and varied for Harry to remember them all but he had always assumed it was because he was a freak – that he was special. Now he had to wonder – were there other _freaks?_ Were there other people who could talk to snakes and make glass disappear?

Harry got his answer when the pale, obsidian eyed man pulled a long, thin stick of black wood from his sleeve in a move so fast that Harry could barely comprehend. With no more than a flick of his stick the front door and all the broken glass on the floor vanished and the man stepped forward, now nose to nose with a shrinking Vernon.

"Fortunately for me," the strange man's deep, velvety voice purred dangerously, "you are irrelevant in this matter."

With another flick of the black wood, a red bolt of light erupted from the end and hit Vernon square in the chest. Petunia and Dudley shrieked loudly as Harry's uncle fell back and landed on the floor with a thundering crunch.

"Wicked," Harry breathed in awe as the man sheathed the stick back in his sleeve. "Can you teach me to do that?"

Petunia shot him a dark look that promised retribution but Harry was enraptured by the tall, dark man in front of him. "Daddy's dead, isn't he?" Dudley wailed loudly and large tears began to streak down his fat face and over his double chin.

The stranger ignored Dudley's wailing and looked at Harry with eyes that he swore could look into his soul. "I daresay if you accept your spot at Hogwarts, you'll learn much more than that."

"Hogwarts?" Harry asked, feeling almost foolish as he tried out the nonsensical word.

With a great heaving sigh, the man turned to Petunia and she sputtered incoherently, "I – I-"

"Turned out as hateful as I always knew you to be _, 'Tuney_." Petunia blanched and vindication rose up in Harry's ribcage like a flame being kindled into an inferno.

Somehow, Petunia had known all about whatever Hogwarts was and the freakishness he was always being punished for – and also the man. They spoke with familiarity and yet, the man seemed to dislike Petunia as much as Harry did. Not to mention, he had thrown Vernon on his arse and may or may not have killed him – which Harry wouldn't have minded but he doubted the obese man was actually dead because his Aunt had yet to break into hysterics.

"Come along Potter," the man said, not looking at Harry. He was staring down Petunia as if daring her to contradict him. "My time is valuable and I'll not waste more of it in this abhorrent place."

Harry looked from Petunia to the man clad in black. He didn't know his name or what Hogwarts was but the man clearly detested the Dursleys as much as Harry did and anyone who could see the Dursleys for the awful monsters they were was okay in Harry's book.

So, despite everything common sense had ever told him, Harry followed behind the man as he whirled around and began to walk towards the curb in long strides. He didn't even look back at Dudley or Petunia, instead – as they came to a halt at the street - Harry looked up to his rescuer and wondered if it would be okay to ask the hundreds of questions that were bubbling up like carbonation in the fizzy drinks Dudley loved.

"Sir," Harry asked softly, apprehensive of making a nuisance of himself and losing favor with the man. "Who are you?"

The man, who was checking a pocket watch that Harry could see had no numbers, but rather planets in their places. "I'll explain Mr. Potter, but first if you would step back please."

Obliging the request, Harry stepped back away from the curb and watched as the man pulled his stick from his sleeve and raised it in the air. For a moment, nothing happened, but the man seemed satisfied nonetheless and returned the black stick back in his sleeve.

Before Harry could ask what had happened or what was going to happen, a loud crack of thunder boomed and Harry stumbled back in surprise when a huge, bright purple triple-deck bus appeared out of thin air. "Whoa," Harry whispered in awe as the doors opened and pimply faced boy poked his head out.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus," the young man greeted with a smile and a thick cockney accent. "I'm Stan and this is Ernie," he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at a man even older than Harry's new companion who smiled, showing off three missing teeth. "Where might you two be headed?"

Harry looked to his dark cloaked companion and noted the distasteful sneer on the man's lips. "The Leaky Cauldron."

"Ah," Stan flashed an easy, carefree grin. "O'course, it is that time of year, Professor. Eleven sickles per seat – thirteen if you'd like cocoa."

Harry watched as his companion pulled out a black velvet drawstring purse and fished out a shiny gold coin and five small silver ones. He dropped them into Stan's hand, careful to not touch his chocolate smudged fingers, and then returned the purse to his pocket.

Stan moved, reentering the bus with a loud call of, "Leaky Cauldron, Ern!"

The man, the professor as Stan had called him, motioned to Harry to board first. So, Harry stepped up and into the bus feeling as though he were stepping into a whole other world. There laughing shrunken heads tied by their hair to the rearview mirror and Ernie gave him a gapped smile as he boarded. Inside was impossibly bigger than the narrow frame Harry had seen out on the curb.

The front half of the bus were seats with straps of leather hanging from the ceiling to hold on to, but the back half held beds and a flight of stairs much too large to fit inside the narrow shell of the bus. "It – it's like _magic_ ," Harry breathed in awe to the professor who stood behind him.

"Very good Mr. Potter," the professor drawled with sarcasm as they chose seats near the front. "Now can you infer what Hogwarts is?"

He could. Harry was reeling over _magic_ but he hadn't lost his wits. The man had come about Hogwarts and had been called a professor. "A school," Harry breathed with wonder. "A magic school."

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," the professor informed him and Harry only had to look around at beds that fit in busses that appeared out of thin air to know it was true.

Harry was just about to ask one of the many questions building up inside of him when the bus lurched forward with such force that Harry would have gone sailing backward if not for the strong arm of his professor bracing him. The bus moved so fast that the world outside was almost a blur. They raced through traffic two or three times the speed of any muggle car and never bothered to stop for traffic lights as they squeezed into impossibly tight spaces and lurched over traffic.

In and out they weaved with gut-wrenching split second turns and all the while, Harry was jolted and banged around but he'd never been happier in all his life. The ride was like a roller coaster that Dudley boasted about riding and the adrenaline that pumped through Harry like electricity was addicting.

The ride ended far too soon for Harry but when he looked up to the professor, the man was tight-lipped and looked a little green. His smile waned and he tried not to show how delighted he was as Stan called out, "Leaky Cauldron!"

The professor exited the bus quickly as the drivers wished them well and Harry followed suit, stepping out into the warm summer air. He looked around, eagerly anticipating more magic to jump out and surprise him but what he found was a magic subtler than a giant purple bus springing into existence.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Our life is made by the death of others."_

 _– Leonardo Da Vinci_

Chapter Two:

The Leaky Cauldron was an ancient looking pub with a creaking sign on old rusted chains. It was smashed between an old record shop and a convenience shop on the corner, but it looked hundreds of years old. Almost immediately Harry spotted the building, it stood out glaringly from the modern buildings around it, but when he looked around none of the people passing by it on the sidewalk spared it a glance.

"They can't see it can they?" he asked as the professor laid a hand on his shoulder and led him forward.

"No," he agreed in his low, whispering voice that Harry had found drew his attention far more than his Aunt's shrill yelling. "Muggles are impossibly dense about magic. London is full of magic and they rarely see any of it."

"What happens if a _muggle_ does see magic?" Harry implored further, carefully gauging the professor for any irritation and trying out new magical vernacular. Now he had a new word for the Dursleys, _muggle._ He couldn't wait to throw that one in their faces.

"We have specialists wipe their mind," the professor answered distractedly. His hand paused on the doorknob and he glanced at Harry warily. "You'll understand later but keep your head down for now and keep your scar covered."

"My scar?" Harry asked in confusion, but at the same moment the professor opened the door and pushed Harry in first.

All the questions Harry had faded into the back of his mind as his eyes were drawn to a rag wiping down a table _by itself._ There was magic everywhere here - in the chairs that moved, the emerald fire in the hearth that blazed high and strong as a wizard stepped out, and even in the people. There was a witch with fingernails longer than Harry's fingers smoking a pipe and when she caught him looking she let out a puff of smoke that formed into a boat and sailed his way, enveloping him in a cloying sweet smell that made him cough as he waved it away.

The witch winked at him and turned away.

The professor led Harry through a crowd of witches and wizards, all wearing different kinds of robes and hats of all sizes. When they reached the bar, they stopped and the professor cleared his throat to get the attention of the barkeep.

An old man with graying hair and wrinkled skin smiled at them. "Hello Professor Snape, what –" he paused, looking to Harry with wide brown eyes. "Bless my soul, it's Harry Potter."

A cold shiver ran down Harry's spine as the pub went quiet. He looked around over shoulder and found that everyone was staring at him before his head snapped back to the barkeeper. "Um, hello," Harry replied nervously and then chaos descended.

Every witch and wizard leaped to crowd around them and Harry found both of his hands being grasped by strangers and he tensed, expecting violence. But he was surprised when they _shook his hand._

A distant memory came to Harry when he spotted a familiar face with large, violet eyes. "I know you!" He cried out in surprise and the wizard with bottle-green robes let out a cry of joy. "You bowed to me once, on a muggle street."

"He remembers me!" the wizard cried aloud. "Harry Potter remembers me!"

The wizard was pushed aside by the witch with the pipe and long fingernails. "Dorris Crawkford, Mr. Potter. What a pleasure it is to meet you."

They greeted him like a celebrity and Harry was absolutely bewildered by their fawning gazes. "That is enough," Professor Snape hissed in barely constrained anger. He grabbed Harry's shoulders and yanked him back so that Harry rested against his torso. "This is a child you dunderheaded fools, get back, all of you."

When the chaos died down and the crowd had been properly cowed, Harry and Professor Snape were shown to a private room in back where the barkeeper, Tom – Harry had heard him called, brought them huge bowls of soup and thickly-sliced freshly baked soft bread that was still warm enough to melt butter.

"Who were all those people?" Harry wondered aloud as they sat at the table. "How did they know my name?"

Professor Snape gave a long, tired sigh and with an odd maneuver of his fingers made a pipe appear in his hands. It was made of black wood similar to the stick in his sleeve and when he gave a small puff the bowl lit and glowed all on its own. "You'd best eat as much as can," the professor told him and his strong, dulcet tones now sounded thin and weary. "I don't expect you'll have much appetite left after everything I have to tell you."

He didn't need to eat, his stomach only panged in hunger a little. He could have gone much longer before the emptiness became pain, but Harry obliged his professor – _his professor,_ he thought with giddiness – and took a large mouthful of the delicious chicken noodle soup.

This appeared to appease Professor Snape because the man took a big puff off his pipe and settled back against his chair, not touching his own food. "I suppose we should begin with who I am, you should at the very least know with whom you're speaking to. I am Professor Severus Snape, the Head of Slytherin and Potions Master at Hogwarts."

"What's a Slytherin?" Harry asked as he picked up another slice of bread, feeling a strange sense of freedom settle over his shoulders. Away from muggles and in this new fantastic world of bright purple busses and fire that wizards could step out of, the rules that once bound him fell in loose chords at his feet. He could ask questions!

"Slytherin is a house at Hogwarts, all students upon arriving at the castle for the first time are sorted into one of the four houses. There are Slytherin – for those of cunning and ambition, Ravenclaw – which houses the curious and intellectually driven, Hufflepuff – where dwell the fair and hard-working, and _Gryffindor,_ " he spat the last name like a curse, "the boasted home of the courageous and noble. The houses were named after the founders of Hogwarts," Professor Snape explained as he exhaled will-o-wisp smoke figures that danced in circles in the air.

"You don't like Gryffindor much? Why?" Harry wondered at how Professor Snape's tone had filled with irritation at the last house.

"There is a long-standing rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin," the professor informed Harry with a wan smirk. "Your parents were in Gryffindor if you're curious."

Harry dropped his spoon with a loud clatter and felt his eyes widen. "You knew my parents?"

"I went to school with them, yes," Professor Snape nodded and looked away, into the fire. "Your father was an arrogant arse who wreaked havoc on Hogwarts but your mother was kind enough. We had been friends since childhood – your mother, Petunia, and I all grew up on the same block in Cokesworth."

Harry bowed his head and leaned back, his meager lunch had filled him and now he wished he'd never eaten at all. He felt a bit sick. There was one question that clawed deep inside his ribcage, trying to get out, but Harry was suddenly embarrassed and unsure. "What – I mean, do you remember their names?"

Professor Snape's obsidian eyes jumped to Harry, glittering dangerously in the dim firelight. "I'm sorry," Harry rushed to diffuse the rage he was so good at detecting after years of living with Vernon and Petunia. "You don't have to tell me."

The silence stretched out, long and heavy, smothering all conversation until Professor Snape cleared his throat. "I am not mad at you, you dunderheaded boy. Petunia should have told you all of this, years ago. How it ended up being my responsibility is beyond me but it is a heinous crime against you."

A shorter, lighter silence fell as Harry watched Professor Snape heaved a great, strained sigh. "Lily Amelia Evans and James Charlus Potter."

A large lump welled in Harry's throat and he tried swallowing but found it stuck and unmoving. He tried not to think of his parents very often because they were vague impressions of long dead people, no longer relevant to the world. But now they were real people with names and backstories – it was hard to stay so detached when he was being told all about them.

He didn't want to know any more about them, he decided with certainty. Maybe later – when he was older or perhaps never. Whatever he decided in the future, Harry would leave that up to his future self. But for now, he let his questions die - all except one that is. "Did they really die in a car crash?"

The fury that overcame and transformed Professor Snape's face alarmed Harry so much that he leaned back in his chair. "No," the professor ground out and his fist that held the pipe clenched so hard that his knuckles turned white. "But before I tell you how they died, I must tell you of our world.

"The magical world was at war when you were born, it had been for almost decade." Another cold shiver ran down Harry's spine as he listened intently.

"There is a social divide in our world, even now. You will no doubt recognize it in time but the gap between those who come from muggles and those who come from magical families have very different ideas about magic. You see, the Ministry of Magic governs all magical beings in the United Kingdom but ultimately, the Minister bows to the muggle Queen. He's _her_ Minister and we are all her subjects." Professor Snape paused and took a puff of his pipe and let out a long, slim tendril of smoke that coiled like a snake before it dissolved.

"Queen Elizabeth and the Prime Minister have full autonomy over which magic is and is not allowed to be practiced – the banned magic they call 'dark magic'."

Harry huffed in dry, sarcastic humor. "I bet the old magic families love that."

"Exactly," Professor Snape agreed with a wry half-curl of his lips. "Old wizarding families are a proud bunch, Mr. Potter, and they do not take kindly to being told what magic they can and cannot use. Now, don't get me wrong – dark magic is dangerous Mr. Potter. It is powerful and wild, hard to control, but such is the nature of magic."

"I don't understand," Harry interrupted Professor Snape's musing over the nature of magic. "If the old wizarding families don't want to bow to a muggle queen why don't they revolt?"

"But they did," Professor Snape looked back to Harry expectantly. "The war which I referred to earlier, the one waging while your parents and I were at Hogwarts, the war that you were born into. Long ago, before I was born, there was a wizard who brought the great houses of English magic under a single banner and started a revolution."

"Who was he?" Harry asked, leaning forward in his chair in excitement. "What happened?"

Professor Snape's face, however, remained stoic and his eyes were pained. Harry felt his excitement fade when he realized this was not a happy story.

"Wizards do not speak his name anymore," he warned Harry with a serious look. "Lord Voldemort rose to power, seemingly out of nowhere. He was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin and the power he possessed was unimaginable. He had gone further, delved deeper into the most dangerous of magics and he began recruiting followers to his cause. They were going to change the face of the wizarding world and he would rule this new empire as a protector of _all_ magic."

"But something happened, didn't it?" Harry questioned, feeling the certainty of it in his bones.

"Yes," Professor Snape agreed. "Delving so far into magics that haven't been studied in centuries is a perilous task and Lord Voldemort, who had endeavored to become immortal to oppose his enemies – lost his mind to madness. No one knows what magic he was studying but something happened and the once ambitious and powerful Lord of _all_ magic was transformed into something akin to a demon. He terrorized the entire country in his madness and in his psychosis the country fell to its knees – for no one stood against him and lived."

There were goosebumps rising on Harry's skin and even though he was sitting next to a warm fire, he was as cold as death. "What happened to him?"

Professor Snape bowed his head over steepled hands as he spoke. "The Dark Lord tried several times to recruit your father – he was strong and the Potter family is as old as any other magical family. But your father believed – as all self-proclaimed light wizards do – that dark magic is evil, after all – look what it had done to the Dark Lord. By that time, he didn't even look human and your parents fought against him. The war was at its climax, the Ministry was about to fall, and your parents went into hiding when they discovered Lily was pregnant with you. But they were betrayed and their location was given to the Dark Lord by one they considered a friend. On Samhain," he paused at Harry's confused expression to clarify, "on Halloween night in 1981, he found them."

Harry's mouth was suddenly dry and the lump in his throat returned. "He – he killed them, didn't he?" His voice was thick and raspy as he spoke.

"Yes," Professor Snape confirmed with a grim frown. "He killed them and then he turned his wand on you."

Harry gulped loudly and his whole body shivered. "He tried to kill _me_?"

"There is something you should understand – the curse he tried to use on you has never, ever been countered. Every single person the Killing Curse has touched it has killed, _except you._ " Professor Snape looked to Harry now with an unfathomable expression. "That night, his curse rebounded off of you and destroyed his body."

Harry sat staring at his professor, never knowing his wide eyes were the exact same color of the Killing Curse. "That is why you are famous Harry, you defeated the Dark Lord and the magical world has known peace for ten years now. It is also why," Professor Snape continued with grim seriousness, "the old families who had supported Lord Voldemort will be no friends of yours. They still, to this very day, hold out hope for a revolution and restoration of magic."

"But you said the curse destroyed his _body,_ " Harry mused aloud with growing concern. "If he was immortal – could he live without a body?"

Professor Snape nodded gravely. "Some will foolishly tell you the Dark Lord is dead, but he is still out there – somewhere, searching for a way to return."

By now Harry's soup had gone cold and he pushed the bowl away as his stomach threatened to heave its meager contents.

"And now you know why every witch and wizard in the United Kingdom – and many other countries – knows your name. You are famous Harry, you are known as the _Boy-Who-Lived."_ Professor Snape sneered the name with same loathing of the moniker that Harry felt.

Harry blanched and fell back against his seat completely, numb and heavy feeling as he tried to process everything he'd just been told. "Do not think," Professor Snape warned Harry with a sharp gaze, "that your celebrity status will do you any favors. I expect you squash those ruffian genes your father passed on to you and to be a model student. I won't tolerate any dunderheadedness."

Professor Snape's waspish words shattered the heavy tension that had fallen over the room and gave Harry more to think about than the very depressing history lesson he'd just recieved. It was the first time anyone had any expectation of him concerning school. Did this mean Professor Snape cared whether or not Harry did well, or was he just concerned about another James Potter, who he obviously didn't like? His father sounded a bit like Dudley to Harry and he had no intentions of being anything like them – he nodded his head in silent agreement.

Besides, there was no time to cause trouble when there was _magic_ to learn.


	3. Chapter 3

_"There is no formula for success except, perhaps, an unconditional acceptance of life and what it brings."_

 _–_ _Arthur Rubenstein_

Chapter Three:

Once the doom and gloom of the past had been discussed, digested, and finally tucked away, the excitement returned. Professor Snape led Harry out the back of the Leaky Cauldron and showed him which bricks to tap with his wand to gain entry to Diagon Alley. "If you ever forget," Professor Snape told him as Harry's eyes went wide at the sight of the magical shopping district, "Tom the barkeeper can let you in."

But Harry was far too busy taking in the tall, slanted shops and all the brightly colored people to respond. One man had long, chestnut hair and a huge black bird on his shoulder as he picked through sacks of what looked like oddly colored worms. There were kids with noses pressed up against a glass display case that held a broom that was floating in midair and there was a large group of older kids standing in front of a loud shop called the Magical Menagerie which was permeated with the musky smell of animals.

Harry wished for more eyes as he tried to take in everything all at once. Professor Snape walked fast and Harry struggled to keep up as others hurriedly got of their way. Everyone seemed to know who the professor was on sight and Harry was not oblivious to the way they shrunk back from him. Harry thought it was mental, he liked the dour professor. He talked to Harry like an adult and he was also a no-nonsense sort which Harry appreciated.

"Professor," Harry called from behind for what seemed like the hundredth time. "How am I to get supplies for school when I have no money?"

Professor Snape slowed his fast walk so that Harry could catch up and walk beside him. "Your parents left you everything they had when they died, we're going to Gringotts," he pointed to giant, slightly crooked white building that loomed over all the others at the end of the street where it forked into two other streets. "The magical bank run by Goblins."

Goblins, as it turned out, looked almost exactly like Harry had pictured, only with hair. They had long, stretched out noses and short statures with wickedly sharp teeth and small beady eyes. Overall, Harry would have much preferred to stay far away from the terrifying little creatures but he followed his professor dutifully.

"Mr. Harry Potter would like to make a withdrawal." Professor Snape reached into his cloak pocket and procured a note and a small golden key. "And Albus Dumbledore sent me for the contents of vault 713."

As the goblin went to get two others who would show them to their vaults, Professor Snape turned to Harry. "When he gives you your key, keep it and don't ever lose it or give it away. I will meet you back here in the entry when you are done, but you are not to wander off without me – do you understand?"

"Yes," Harry nodded. He had no intention of exploring Diagon Alley on his own until he had his wits about him.

Harry was led down a deep corridor by a Goblin who only reached Harry's waist and carried a lantern on a hook. The goblin climbed into the waiting and stuck the lantern into a groove that held it aloft. "In please," the Goblin demanded with a high pitched, gravelly voice.

Harry entered the cart and sat down just as it took off, with all the force and speed of the Knight Bus. It took all his strength to keep himself up straight and yet the speed and deep dives thrilled him. He was smiling by the time the ride came to an end, "Can we do that all day?" He asked the Goblin with a cheeky grin.

"Stay back," the Goblin warned with a smile full of razor sharp teeth, completely ignoring Harry's enthusiasm. "The vaults can suck you in if you aren't careful."

"But what about thieves?" Harry asked, baffled by the security risks of thieves just being sucked in.

The Goblin cackled and said, "Oh Gringotts is dead easy to break into if you know how – it's breaking out that's never happened before."

Then the Goblin turned its wicked grin to the door and Harry watched as the Goblin opened a small latch in the door stuck the key in. When the door opened, Harry nearly went blind from the pile of glittering gold that was taller than he was. "This is mine?" he asked, thunderstruck by the sight of a such a fortune just sitting under London.

The Goblin handed Harry a small velvet purse much like the one Professor Snape carried and Harry snapped into action. He didn't know how much he needed so he grabbed handfuls of gold and shoveled them in. It took nearly five minutes to fill the purse completely and it never once grew an ounce heavier. When he was done, Harry put the bulging purse into the pocket of his overly large trousers, his stomach clenching even as butterflies erupted within him.

Professor Snape had made better time than Harry had and was waiting for him exactly where he'd left him. "I trust you didn't make too big of a dent in your trust?" Professor Snape drawled with a sarcastic edge to his tone.

Harry grinned back and pulled the bulging purse from his pocket. "Not too big," he replied with equal sarcasm.

"Very well, let's be on our way. I do have students to prepare for, a Potter no less." Professor Snape said dourly, but the Harry caught the amused glint in his obsidian eyes and knew he was making a joke.

"What's first?" Harry asked excitedly as he kept stride with the professor. "Spellbooks or a wand or maybe a magic carpet to take me to Hogwarts?"

"You sound more and more dunderheaded every time you open your mouth," Professor Snape told him waspishly as he reached into his cloak and pulled out a letter and handed it to Harry. "First," he moved the letter away as Harry reached for it, "there will be no flying carpets. You will take the train to Hogwarts like every other student."

When Harry reached for the letter again Professor Snape moved it again, "And second, we'll start with your wand. The blasted process can take forever."

Then, he relented and gave Harry the letter.

 _Mr. Harry James Potter  
Cupboard beneath the stairs  
Little Whingey, Surrey_

Such a short and simple address caused Harry to freeze mid-step and his hands began to shake. _Cupboard beneath the stairs._ They knew where he slept. He didn't exactly know who 'they' were but they knew. Shame blossomed across his cheeks, the heat of the flush and the heat of the day made him dizzy. He made an odd sort of choking sound and then Professor Snape's hand was on his shoulder, a comforting weight holding him down – tethering him to the world that threatened to crumble from beneath his feet.

"It is why I came," Professor Snape told him quietly as he gently pulled Harry out of the street. "A half-blood such as yourself normally receives this letter alone, only the muggle-borns usually require a member of the faculty to prove magic is real. Do not worry, I will be talking to Petunia when we return."

As one part of Harry was anguishing over shame – the other, far larger part was adding new words to his vocabulary with relish. It wasn't hard, with proper context, to figure out all the new magical vernacular he was learning. "Are you a pureblood professor?"

If he was jarred by the sudden change in conversation, Professor Snape didn't show it. "No, my mother spurned her family and fell in love with a muggle. I'm a half-blood, like yourself. Your mother was a muggle-born and your father was a pureblood."

"Do witches and wizards do that often?" Harry asked, and then clarified when his professor gave him a curious look. "Marry muggles, I mean."

"It is highly frowned upon but not unheard of," Professor Snape answered as they continued walking. "Sharing our secret with muggles is illegal with only two exceptions, immediate family if you're a minor and your spouse if you are an adult."

"But why would anyone want to marry a muggle?" Harry asked, thinking of the Dursleys and how they had treated him because they knew of his magic.

"I agree," Professor Snape hummed. "But, you'll find many that many of the light wizards who opposed _you-know_ - _who_ are romantically fascinated by muggles."

"You say that as if you're not a light wizard," Harry questioned as he fought to keep pace with his professor.

"That is hardly any of your concern," his dour professor snapped waspishly.

Harry shrugged his shoulders and could feel his lips turning up into a curious grin. His mood was brightening now and he enjoyed the freedom of pestering Professor Snape without the looming threat of harm hanging over him. "Well I don't know anything about light or dark, I just want to _be_ a wizard."

"Touché," his professor conceded with a nod. "Let's get you a wand."

Ollivander's was ancient, dusty old shop with rows and rows of shelves of long, thin boxes. As soon as Harry stepped over the threshold of the dark, cluttered shop the small hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end. There was something in the air, invisible to his eyes but he could feel it wash over him, warm and smooth like velvet. "Hello, Ollivander," Professor Snape drawled in a bored tone.

Harry spun around and found bright silver eyes peering out from a darkened corner. "Oh Severus, you spoil my fun. How's the wand? Ebony, Dragon Heartstring, 12 inches – quite unyielding if I remember correctly."

Severus Snape nodded. "You know you do. My wand is fine; however, we have a new student needing to be paired for the first time."

At this, Mr. Ollivander turned his silver gaze upon Harry and his eyes went even wider. "Mr. Potter – I wondered when I'd be seeing you."

Harry swallowed as the wandmaker stepped forward, his off-putting silver eyes traveling upwards – to Harry's scar. After a moment in which no one in the room breathed, Mr. Ollivander straightened and then wandered off into the shelves without a backward glance.

"I can remember it like it was yesterday," Mr. Ollivander's voice reached them faintly as Professor Snape sat down by the window. "Your mother and father buying their first wands."

Harry groaned when his parents were brought up again and Professor Snape gave him pitying look. "Your mother favored Willow," Mr. Ollivander told them as a tape measure sprang to life and began wrapping itself around Harry's head and measuring the space in between his eyes. "Your father, however, favored Mahogany."

Just as quickly as Harry's good mood had come, it left even quicker. Once again, his thoughts returned to Lord Voldemort – the once great wizard lost to the madness of the magic he fought to protect – and his parents who had fallen victim to said madness. But they didn't stay on his mind for long. As Ollivander piled boxes into his arms and the tape measure measured the distance between his elbow and his middle finger, Harry's thoughts centered on Voldemort.

Had he come to Ollivander's as Professor Snape said all witches and wizards in England do? Had Voldemort gone to Hogwarts as Harry was about to? He was out there somewhere – bodiless – a ghost lost in magic-induced madness. What kind of magic could tear apart your sanity so completely, that a rebellion devolved into something so awful?

"Here we go," Mr. Ollivander came out from the shelves with his arms full of boxes. "This ought to get us started. Here," he opened a box and handed Harry a sandy colored wand.

Nothing happened and then Mr. Ollivander nearly growled, "Well, give it a wave."

Harry did and a glass vase sitting on the counter exploded into shards of glass that went flying. "No, no," he croaked as the shards of glass began to rise up off the ground and repair itself like pieces of a puzzle falling into place. In half a minute the vase looked as it had before as if nothing had happened. "Ah, thank you, Severus."

Over the next hour, Harry tried all kinds of wands – long, short, dark wood, light wood, unicorn hair, and dragon heartstring. The longer it went on the more withdrawn and sullen Harry became – and the merrier Ollivander became. What if no wand chose him? What if they rejected him from Hogwarts because no wand would have him?

But Ollivander kept whistling and pulling more boxes. Harry tried all sorts of woods and cores in almost every pairing he could think of. He was almost ready to throw in the towel when Mr. Ollivander hummed thoughtfully. "I wonder…"

With that, he disappeared behind a thick curtain behind the counter and reemerged with a single box coated with at least an inch of dust. Ollivander lifted the lid and pulled out a darker colored wand that gleamed a reddish brown in the lamplight. At first, he hesitated in handing over the wand – he gave Harry a long, measured look before finally handing it over.

Almost as soon as Harry's hand slipped around the wood there was an awful creaking sound and much to his horror, the wood split open. Harry was so surprised that he dropped the broken wand and looked to Mr. Ollivander. Said wandmaker had his own wand out and had caught the wood and crimson feather that had sprung from the wand midair and magically floated them back to the counter.

"How curious," Mr. Ollivander muttered in a grave whisper as he stared at the mess on his counter.

Harry swallowed loudly and tried to summon the courage to speak. "I'm sorry," he tried, only to find his voice hoarse and raspy. "What – what happened?"

By now Professor Snape was standing near to Harry with his own astonished gaze and Mr. Ollivander shook his head in disbelief. "I created this wand with a single purpose in mind Mr. Potter. It seems that purpose is not to be, however, the Phoenix tail feather core chose you but the wood did not."

"But then what do we do?" Harry asked as Professor Snape rested a hand on his shoulder, calming his frazzled nerves.

Mr. Ollivander looked at Harry with his eerie silver eyes and gave a casual shrug – as if he hadn't just made a big deal about the purpose the now broken wand was supposed to have. "We find you a wood that matches to you and I'll insert the core."

Once again Ollivander disappeared behind the curtain and Harry and Professor Snape exchanged dubious glances. "When you said finding a wand takes ages, you weren't kidding."

"I'm afraid not," Professor Snape agreed. "Though I will say this is by far the most peculiar wand matching I've ever witnessed."

"Guess I'm special," Harry replied, the idea not improving his mood.

Before Professor Snape could respond, Mr. Ollivander came back through the curtain holding an armful of different wands. "These are all coreless for now so there won't be any more performances," he told them as he laid the empty wands on the counter. "Just brushing your fingers over them will do, you'll feel it when you find one."

So, Harry did as he was told and brushed his fingertips lightly over the woods. It only took a single pass to find a wood that was warm to the touch. "This one," he declared, picking up the finely carved, polished dark grey wood.

Mr. Ollivander looked at the wood Harry had chosen, up at Harry, and then back to the polished wood. "Is something wrong?" he asked the wandmaker.

"That is Hawthorn," Mr. Ollivander replied in hardly a whisper. Then, in a louder tone, he said, "I do not usually place Hawthorne wands into the hands of students, Mr. Potter." But then the hesitation in Mr. Ollivander vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared.

"Why not?"

"I believe I can answer this one," Professor Snape drawled, cutting into the conversation. When Mr. Ollivander motioned for him to do so, he continued. "Hawthorn wands are capable of extraordinary magic – think of magic like a tree and all its branches are different kinds of magic. Some wands are adept at healing but lousy with curses, some have a flair for artistry but weak with martial magic. Hawthorn wands are unique because they are just as capable of healing as they are killing."

"Quite right, Severus. Quite right." Mr. Ollivander removed everything from the counter except for the feather and the Hawthorne wood before he peered at Harry. "This feather," he held up the crimson feather so that Harry could see it, "came from a Phoenix I know personally and it has only given one other feather in its many lives."

With this, Mr. Ollivander bent low over the counter until he was only inches from Harry. "It is curious that you should be destined for _this_ feather when its brother _gave you that scar."_

Professor Snape watched Harry as closely as the wandmaker and Harry's mouth went dry and his palms started to sweat, but Mr. Ollivander continued. "Mr. Potter, I think I will make an exception for you – I have not created a wand of such power in _many_ years – but be warned, Hawthorne wands are extremely difficult to master and their spells can backfire badly if you are casting carelessly."

With that, the wandmaker disappeared back behind the curtain _once again_ and Harry was left staring at the curtain falling closed in surprise. Once again, for the hundredth time since he had woken up this morning, Harry was left reeling. Voldemort never stopped cropping up and Harry was once again thinking about the man lost to madness. The master of the brother to his own wand.

"What does it mean?" he asked Professor Snape, feeling oddly disconnected from himself. "That _he_ and I have the same feathers?"

"It means," Professor Snape paused and looked down at him, "nothing. You tell no one and you forget about it. You go to Hogwarts, Harry, and you learn magic and make friends. The Dark Lord is gone and you need not worry about him yet, if ever."


	4. Chapter 4

_"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched - they must be felt with the heart."_

 _\- Helen Keller_

Chapter Four:

Once more Harry found himself the helpless victim to flying tape measures, this time in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Professor Snape had left Harry on his own in favor of talking to a man across the street whilst Harry _'endured Madam Malkin's insufferableness.'_ There was a tall, lanky boy with wildly curly brown hair and bored blue eyes on the small platform next to him. He was also being measured but he seemed so familiar with the process that he moved his arms and legs well before the magical little devils beat themselves against him as they did to Harry.

"You know," the boy drawled after it took nearly a minute for Harry to figure out how the blasted measure wanted him to move, "it's easier to just spread your arms and legs out if you aren't sure."

Harry glanced at the boy briefly before holding his arms out and the tape measures went wild as they measured him with renewed gusto. "Thanks," Harry tried not flush in embarrassment as the boy shrugged. "Are you from a magical family then?"

"That's right," the boy said, though the corners of his mouth turned down slightly. "I'm Theodore, you are?"

"I'm Harry," he sent the boy a smile as the tape measures were busy looping around his hands.

"Do you know what house you want to be in, Harry?"

A small swell of confidence rose up within Harry when the conversation turned to one of the few subjects he knew. His gaze flickered to the window where he could see Professor Snape still talking to the man across the street and his lips turned up slightly. "Yeah, I think I want to be a Slytherin."

"All of my family has been in Slytherin," Theodore told him, though he didn't sound quite so happy about that. "I expect that's where I'll go too. Has any of your family been to Hogwarts before?"

Harry tried to nod as he went cross-eyed, the tape measure had nearly hit him in between the eyes as it measured his head. "My parents were both Gryffindors."

Harry missed the look of surprise on Theodore's face and then the boy's tapes fell dormant at his feet and his fitting was done. Before he had the chance to say anything though, Madam Malkin came over and shooed him from the platform. "Alrighty dearie, you're done. I'll have your robes up by the counter in a few minutes."

"Thank you," Theodore said before turning to Harry, looking puzzled. "I'll see you at Hogwarts, Harry."

"Bye Theodore!" Harry called as he was once more pecked by the cursed instruments to turn.

Madam Malkin turned to Harry and sucked on her teeth as she looked over the clothes that were much too big for him. "Will you be wanting just your school robes then dearie?"

For a moment Harry started to say yes, he was so deeply unused to having money that his first response was to shy away from such questions. But the pity in Madam Malkin's eyes as she took in Dudley's hand-me-downs made him pause and look over to Theodore who was waiting by the counter. The boy's clothes were nice, very nice – a bit too nice considering Harry liked wearing jeans and t-shirts. But Theodore said he was probably going to be a Slytherin and he was dressed in nice black slacks complete with a vest and tie.

"No," Harry said slowly, drawing out the word as he turned back to Madam Malkin. "You see I'm new to the magical world and I want to look the part of a Slytherin. Can you help me?"

The matronly woman's eyebrows rose up to her hairline. "Oh dear," she whispered with a hand over her bosom. "Are you quite sure dearie, a lot of the Slytherin's are old well to do families. That could be quite expensive."

"Do you have a way to charge my Gringotts account?" Harry asked, though he had made up his mind and it didn't matter if he had to lug six more pouches of gold over.

Madam Malkin nodded, looking shocked with her wide hazel eyes. "Of course – but are you sure?"

Harry nodded back with determination. "Yes, I'm sure. I'll need a full wardrobe – sleep clothes, winter, and summer wardrobes." He paused and looked down at his dirty trainers and then over to Theodore's shiny black leather shoes. "Shoes too."

When Madam Malkin caught on to Harry's ignorance, her heart swelled and she gave him a friendly smile. "Not to worry, dearie. I'll have you looking like a proper young Slytherin in no time."

She lied. It took nearly two full hours before Harry stepped outside into the sunshine, looking for all the world a young well to do heir. His head was swimming with fashion tips that Madam Malkin had tried to instill in him as Professor Snape stalked over with a fearsome glare. The dour professor looked like he was about to curse Harry but then he stopped and gave Harry a once over. "We are going to the Apothecary next," he snapped, though Harry's lips curled up happily when he figured that not being lectured was approval over his decision.

The Apothecary turned out to be a Potions store, from what Harry could tell. There were all sorts of cauldrons hung on the walls and there were countless bins of potions ingredients in long isles. "Good afternoon Severus," the brunette witch behind the counter greeted Harry's professor with flushed cheeks. "We just a shipment of some hellebore gathered under the new moon this morning if you're interested."

"I'm not," Professor Snape replied sharply and Harry rather thought the man didn't like the girl calling him by his given name. "Come along Harry, while we're here I might as well teach you how to pick the best ingredients."

Harry was guided over to a barrel of what looked like small, dark beady eyes that made him want to reach in and squeeze to see if they'd pop and ooze jelly. "You see that one?" Professor Snape reached in and pulled out an eye that looked to have a milk film over it. Harry nodded as he leaned in closer to examine the strange eye. "The milky film over the eye means it was preserved incorrectly. And this one," Professor Snape tossed the milky eye aside and reached for one that looked red and bloodshot, "this one was harvested incorrectly. The ideal newt eye should be clear and bright. Now," he tossed a bag towards Harry who snatched it out of midair, "you'll need forty so get picking."

For each ingredient that Harry needed, Professor Snape showed him how to differentiate the good from the bad and then left Harry to collect his own. Under Professor Snape's scrutinizing gaze Harry plucked fluxweed, dug through bins of dried bat wings, and scavenged the softest feathers. He had had to don special gloves to pick his belladonna and Professor Snape had shown him the easiest way to get flobberworms – turned out that flobberworms were so cheap that it was easier to just take a giant scoop to them and toss out the bad ones as you find them.

"I can't wait for Potions," Harry beamed as they left the apothecary with all his bagged ingredients in his new pewter cauldron. Professor Snape hadn't allowed him to buy a gold one because apparently those were for special potions only but they had compromised on a self-stirring enchantment that Harry had insisted on buying. "I've learned so much just buying ingredients that now I can't wait to actually use them."

"You have a long way to go before your ready to brew," Professor Snape told him, smirking at Harry's crestfallen look. "But," he continued and Harry's head snapped up to look at him, "I will gather a few tomes while you are getting your textbooks and if you study them diligently you will be prepared for my class."

Despite his the pockets of his new pants being full with shrunken purchases, Harry was determined to take the bookstore by storm. Flourish and Blotts was packed with students and Harry was quickly separated from his professor but he found himself hardly noticing the man's absence. He had never been overly fond of books in the muggle world, his Aunt Petunia only ever read romance novels and Harry couldn't ever remember Vernon or Dudley ever reading – but now, the old thick tomes with names like _Curses and Counter-curses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying, and Much, Much More)_ by Professor Vindictus Viridian were the most fascinating books Harry had ever seen.

With the book tucked neatly under his arm and a small smirk, Harry began rifling through shelves. He grabbed the books on his list but he also purchased copies of _Hogwarts: A History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Book of Spells Volumes 1 and 2,_ and _Compendium of Curses._ He was quite pleased with his collection when Professor Snape showed up and added four more heavy tomes to the already unmanageable pile in Harry's arms.

"We'll need to visit the trunk shop before we go so that you can store everything," Professor Snape mused while Harry counted out twenty-three gold coins from his drawstring purse. "I suppose then I can return you to your aunt unless of course, you'd like a familiar."

Harry looked up from his gold and gave his professor a curious look. "A what?"

"A familiar Mr. Potter," Professor Snape snapped. "A pet that you can bond with."

"Oh," Harry turned back to his purchases and didn't speak again until they were back out on the street. "I don't think they Dursley's will allow me to have a pet."

At Professor Snape's scoff, Harry looked up to find barely suppressed fury glittering in professor's black eyes. "Do not concern yourself with muggles, Potter. I will be dealing with them."

"I –" Harry paused and reconsidered his words. "Thank you," he said instead. "I'd like a familiar."

"Very well, we'll go to the trunk shop and then to the Magical Menagerie."

Harry followed his professor into a shop near the Leaky Cauldron with large trunks in the window. The man behind the counter was a large man, not fat per se but much larger than any man Harry had ever seen. He towered over Professor Snape and his arms were so thick and muscular that they looked the size of two of Professor Snape's arms. "I'll leave you two to it then," Professor Snape said and then promptly turned toward the back wall and began examining what looked to be a cupboard.

The large man peered down at Harry intimidatingly but his smile was kind and his eyes twinkled merrily. "Hello," the man boomed loudly. "What can I do yer for."

"I'd like a trunk and a school bag please," Harry informed him, trying not to let the man's size intimidate him. "But I don't really know how any of your trunks differ."

"Ah that's easy enough," the man led Harry over to a wall of trunks. "You got yer standard trunks, of course, one compartment – bigger on the inside of course. And then ye got yer two and three compartment trunks. Then there's the latest model, there are only two compartments technically speaking but it also has shelves in two storage compartments, ye see?"

The man opened one trunk and Harry was floored to see shelving for books. The man demonstrated how they moved and would never run out of space. "The other storage space is for yer potions ingredients." He closed the lid and pressed a stone just above the latch and opened it again. This time the trunk's walls and even the lid was covered with small wooden drawers to store ingredients and in the very bottom, was room for his cauldron.

"I'll take this trunk," Harry told the man with a smile.

"Alright, we just need to figure out what colors yer be wanting. The clasps come in silver and gold but the leather can be almost any color."

Harry thought about it for a moment before deciding on something simple and traditional. "Black leather and silver clasps, please."

"Alright, you go on and pick a bag while I get yer trunk ready." Not needing to be told twice, Harry went to the racks of bags and began rifling through them. There were some with only one space for books and others with two. But Harry managed to find a hideous magenta monstrosity that had two spaces for books and extra storage for quills and ink.

When the trunk was ready Harry brought the bag up to the counter and asked, "Can you change this color to black?"

With a quick wave of the shop keeper's wand, the hideous magenta faded to black under Harry's fingertips. "Now, we need to talk enchantments – do you want any?"

Harry shot the man a puzzled look. "What enchantments do you offer?"

"All the common ones really," the shopkeeper shrugged. "Shrinking charms, theft deterrents, weight charms, muggle-repellent for the queer folks in the Muggle world, that's really about all the standard ones."

"I'll take them all."

The Magical Menagerie was loud and smelled like a barn, but the animals were fascinating. There were horned toads that croaked lullabies and snakes with jewels encrusted on their heads. Harry was fascinated by the mice who used their tails to jump rope and the super-smart cats called Kneazels who watched them hungrily. But it was the majestic owls that swooped overhead and perched in the rafters that mesmerized Harry. The sharp-eyed eagle owls were tall and noble looking while the horned owls were more intimidating. The barn owls were rather plain in comparison but they were nice and allowed him to pet their feathers.

Harry was soon covered in barn owls all vying for his attention when a large, black eagle owl swooped down and screeched. The barn owls fled as quickly as they could in terror and Harry cocked his head to the side to get a good look at his newest guest. The owl was huge and its sharp yellow eyes were slightly terrifying, but the owl bent low and nipped his nose playfully.

Harry paid twenty galleons for him and also purchased him a golden cage and a box of treats.

All that was left then was to return to Private Drive, which he wasn't looking forward to. The ride home on the Knight Bus wasn't nearly as fun when it was taking him away from the magical world. Even if Professor Snape magically made his family love him, Harry never wanted to be in the muggle world again.

So, it was with a heavy heart that Harry followed Professor Snape up the drive, his only consolation was the eagle owl in his arms who hooted to him softly.

There was no front door anymore so they stepped into the house and found the Dursley's at the dinner table, the potatoes he had peeled earlier mashed in a bowl in the center. It felt like another lifetime ago.

Both Harry and Dudley were ordered into the living room so that Professor Snape could talk to Vernon and Petunia. Both Harry and Dudley had tried to eavesdrop through the door but even after pushing and shoving each other, neither of them could hear anything. In the years to come, Harry would often wonder what happened behind that door, but the Dursley's only paled whenever he asked. When they exited the dining room, Dudley's second bedroom was given to Harry.

When they were alone in the living room, Professor Snape grasped Harry's shoulder and gave him a serious look. "Magic is not to be done outside of Hogwarts, when you get to the school the wards will automatically put a trace on you that will detect magic. Now, I must go – I have much to do. If you need anything use your new owl and address the letter to me. It will find me."


	5. Chapter 5

_"_ _Bend the rules only if you have learned them; break the rules only if you have mastered them."_

 _―_ _Matshona Dhliwayo_

Chapter Five:

Even though it wasn't technically allowed, Harry couldn't resist temptation. Knowing that he had a solid month to wait for Hogwarts and that any magic he did was for the moment, untraceable – Harry spent the better part of a day clearing out Dudley's old room so that he would have a proper workspace. Not once did his relatives bother him, even as they heard the loud shuffling over their heads in the living room, they were content to ignore him. Which was perfectly fine with Harry.

But, with no supervision and the tale of the wizard who went mad still in the forefront of his mind, Harry decided that to be a wizard meant he had to be wise. He could picture Professor Snape shaking his head and sneering down at him for blundering a simple spell and hurting himself. So Harry tackled _Magical Theory Volume 1_ first even as his hands itched to hold his Hawthorn wand.

For days Harry memorized wrist, wand, and even tongue movements for all different kinds of magic. Transfiguration motions were generally anti-clockwise and sharp while Charms worked best with exaggerated loops and curves in a clockwise motion. There were exercises the book recommended to do daily to build up muscle memory and even tongue drills to better pronounce the Latin incantations. Harry worked until his arm could take no more and he could correctly do _Hepzibah's Hecta-Hell_ as someone had so cleverly scribbled in the margin.

By the time Harry closed his first book – he knew the difference between a Charm and a Transfiguration, the difference between a spell and an enchantment, and the difference between a jinx, a hex, and a curse. He felt solid in his understanding even as his body felt so light that it might float away. It was early in the morning on his fourth day back in Private Drive when Harry set _Magical Theory_ aside and grabbed _Curses and Counter-curses._

By noon, Harry was taunting Dudley. He walked the sidewalk, alone and easy pickings for his little group of dunderheads to gang up on. It wasn't until Harry reached the park, far away from the prying eyes of adults, that Dudley made his move. He never was the brightest, he didn't stop to ask himself what had changed, _why had Harry slipped up and got caught alone after all this time._ A dim-witted muggle who never thought to question why on earth Harry would be outside, of his own volition, when he could be studying magic.

"'Ay Dud, _Snotty Rotter's_ found himself alone," the tall, skinny boy named Piers called tauntingly.

"I bet you could take _Hairy Shitter_ , D," another, larger boy called back as he circled in on his bicycle. Harry felt his spine stiffen and his hands clenched into fists at his side. He had known what he was getting into – these were just muggles; their taunts didn't matter. His magic mattered now.

In a carefully practiced move, Harry curled his right hand out and his wand lowered slowly. None of Dudley's gang noticed when his fingers grasped hold of the dark wood and hid it in the fabric of his new trousers. "Whaddya say _Harry Tosser,_ " he stopped to choke out a breathy laugh, "you ready to get your glasses broken again?"

 _"_ _Cadere,"_ Harry murmured under his breath while he turned his wand in a tight circle to the right. There was no flash out light or any indicator that anything amiss happened which was why Harry had chosen it. Dudley took one step forward and fell flat on his face, causing quite a sight as he struggled to get up. _"Locomotor Wibbly_ ," Harry murmured again, this time jabbing his wand to the left.

To his delight, Dudley – who was trying very hard now to get upright, fell back down and his face flushed a violent shade of red. Piers and Dennis were laughing as they watched Dudley flounder like a fat fish out of the water. The corners of Harry's turned up in a smirk as he watched his cousin struggle not to burst into tears.

To top it all off, Harry finished with his favorite curse. _"Mimble Wimble,"_ he whispered, making a swishing motion that went unnoticed by the muggles who were distracted by a crying Dudley, struggling to his feet only to have his legs give out again.

Harry left, he simply walked away and the muggles didn't even notice. He returned to his room, deeply satisfied and ready to read further into curses. He didn't stop reading and practicing wand movements, trying to commit them to memory, until he was called for dinner. The Dursley's never actually spoke to him at dinner but they had made him sit and eat with them at least once a day ever since his Professor had _talked_ to them.

Vernon was at the head of the table as usual and Petunia was puttering around, dishing out food and rambling about the neighbors supposed affair with the cable guy – neither of them noticed the still pink Dudley. Harry ate his meal in silence with a big grin on his face as he watched Dudley open and shut his mouth looking terribly incensed.

"The time has come," Dudley suddenly burst out much louder than the quiet talk between his parents and Harry snickered.

Dudley beat one hand on the table and stood up, "To talk of many things."

Dudley's face flushed so deeply he was almost purple and Harry wondered if he'd crack a rib trying to contain his laughter. "Of shoes – of ships – of sealing wax," Dudley was so furious he was taking great heaving breathes and his eyes were watering.

"Of cabbages – and kings," Dudley was now so angered that he was spurned into trying to break the curse with sheer rage. "And why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings!"

At the end, Petunia applauded and burst into tears. "Oh, my Dudley, I had no idea you wanted to be a thespian. I'm so proud of you my darling."

Vernon looked particularly disgruntled with this revelation and hid behind his newspaper with a grunt of, "Oh yes, great job."

Harry only made it into the hallway before he dissolved into laughter. He cackled quietly all the way back to his room and collapsed in his bed, grinning broadly at the ceiling. He loved magic.

It was in _Hogwarts, A History_ where Harry a name he liked for his owl. Harry had been up late one night, unable to sleep and reading softly to his owl when the story of Merlin and Rowena Ravenclaw collaborating on the enchantment in the Great Hall at Hogwarts captured his attention. _Merlin_ was an actual wizard! Harry sat up in bed and grinned at his disgruntled owl, "I'll name you Merlin."

The bird didn't seem impressed but Harry was happy.

The next morning, Harry woke late to the sound of Merlin hooting softly and nipping his ear. When Harry opened his eyes he nearly screamed in surprise. In the night, Merlin had gone hunting and had brought him back a dead rat. It was stiff and disgusting, laying on his clean sheets next to his pillow. "Thanks," Harry tried to smile at his bird who was puffing itself up proudly. "I'll just – keep it in here." Harry laid it gently in the trash and then left the room to wash his hands.

"Potter," Dudley growled angrily as he entered Harry's room without knocking. "The ship was shining on the sea – shining with all his might, he did his very best to make the billows smooth and bright."

Harry looked up from _Book of Spells_ and had to bite back laughter. "It's nice to see you up and walking again Dudley. Still practicing for the theatre? Good for you, make mummy proud."

Dudley flushed with the heat of his embarrassment and left, slamming Harry's door behind him. "Oh Merlin," Harry laughed as he turned to his owl, "It's too easy."

Merlin hooted.

 _"_ _Oculus Reparo,"_ Harry executed #4 of Hepzibah's Hell-Chart of wand movements. The tape holding his glasses together unrolled and rose into the air, disappearing with a sharp crack. When Harry looked to his glasses, he found the metal that rested on his nose repaired as if it had never been snapped in half.

Harry grinned and looked at his owl with a bright smile. "That finishes _Book of Spells Volume 1,_ " he mused, looking longingly at volume two. "I suppose I better hold off and start tackling potions now huh?"

Merlin gave a hoot that Harry interpreted as ' _you should have already started.'_

Harry rolled his eyes affectionately and pulled out hi textbook and the books Professor Snape had picked out. Two of them turned out to be about ingredients – how to gather and harvest them – and the other two turned out to be theory, really complicated theory on how ingredients reacted with each other and why. Potions theory wasn't nearly as entertaining as _Magical Theory_ , it was a lot of rote memorization that more than once made Harry hunch over his desk and bang his forehead against the old tomes.

But by the time August 1 rolled around, Harry had committed the texts to memory – mostly. There were a few that sometimes eluded him but for the most part, Harry was confident he wouldn't make a fool of himself in front of his Potions professor.

It was late, or perhaps very early but Harry couldn't sleep. He was too excited; his mind was racing too fast for there to be any chance at all of sleep. His clothes were laid out on the bed and he felt like a girl – fretting about what to wear. But the anxiety refused to be quelled, Harry stared at his clothes, trying to remember which ones Madam Malkin had said go best with each other. He wanted to be in Slytherin – Professor Snape's house – and he wanted to make a better second impression on Theodore than his first had been. But most of all, he wanted to live up to Slytherin's well to do image. From what he read in _Hogwarts, A History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ the Slytherin house prided itself on qualities like power and luxury and fraternity.

Harry knew he had one – he had tried all of the first-year spells and they'd all worked for him – but the others eluded him. How did he project wealth and class? How did he fit in with the heirs of Ancient and Noble houses? Harry felt like they'd take one look at him and see Private Drive. See muggle.

Harry didn't feel Ancient or Noble, he felt contaminated.

 _I'm going to make a fool of myself,_ Harry thought as he groaned and fell back into his desk chair.

On the desk were all of his books, waiting to be packed away into his trunk. His cauldron was still bubbling on the bookshelf where Harry had set up his impromptu laboratory, and there was a stuffed animal still banging quietly in the closet from a Cheering Charm that was working a little too well.

In the end, it was the comfort of packing away his belongings that ultimately calmed Harry down. He organized his books by subjects and then by author and volume, then he neatly organized all of his potions ingredients in the storage shelves in his trunk, and finally, he neatly folded all of his new clothes and tucked them away with great care. He left out a nice set that was trimmed in green – hoping maybe the color that reminded him of his professor would help bolster his confidence – and a pair of shiny black shoes he'd polished for half an hour.

He couldn't wear a robe like most wizards wore in the muggle world so Harry tucked those away as well, careful to keep his school uniforms on top so he could find them easily on the train. Once all was cleaned, packed away, and dressed – Harry was left with only an hour before his uncle would wake up.

Silently, Harry slipped from his room and tiptoed down the hall. Being very careful, Harry opened the door to his aunt and uncle's room and peeked in. His uncle's large frame looked humorous next to his thin wife, the covers were pulled up over his uncle's rotund stomach and then fell sharply down as they draped over Petunia. Harry aimed his wand and whispered, _"Mucus ad Nauseam."_

As the curse hit, Vernon snored so loudly that he choked and Harry backed out of the room with a smile. For the next two hours, Harry perused _A Beginner's Guide to Potions_ in the living room and worked on committing more ingredients to memory.

 _"_ _ACHOOO,_ " Vernon nearly fell down the stairs – late, much to Harry's displeasure – as a spray of mucus went spewing out of his nose and covered the man's hands.

Harry watched with a small smile hidden behind his large tome as his uncle turned a bit green and rushed to the bathroom on the first floor. His aunt came out of the kitchen just as the sound of retching exploded from the thin door. "Vernon," she called worriedly as she lightly tapped on the door. "Are you well dear?"

The only response was a loud groan and the sound of vomit splashing in the toilet. "Oh dear," Petunia came around the hall and into the living room where she frowned severely at Harry. "Get your things _freak_. Your uncle's sick so I'll be taking you."

Harry silently tucked his book away and then, much to the scowling displeasure of his aunt, he tapped his wand on the lid of his trunk and it shrunk to the size of a matchbox. Harry tucked it away in the pocket of his freshly ironed pants and grinned at his livid aunt. Nothing was said about the magic being used, though Petunia looked like she was desperately trying not to smack her nephew across the cheek.

The drive was quiet and uncomfortable. His aunt never stopped scowling and Harry was desperately trying not to shift in his seat because the ruffle of his clothes sounded like cannon blasts in the tense silence. With a huff of barely suppressed anger, Petunia grabbed a pack of cigarettes from her purse and rolled the window down.

"Let me tell you something," she snapped once she had taken a deep breath of smoke. "I watched my sister head down the same path your walking on right now boy. _It_ might like seem like harmless fun now but let me tell you, it killed her. And your father – the no good drunk that he was. I'm warning you now, this may seem like a dream come true – but it's a nightmare. Don't come crying to us when _it_ turns on you too. We're washing our hands of you-you're not family anymore. You're a tenant during the summer holidays but I expect you not to come back until then, do you understand me?"

"Yes." Despite hating his family, it still stabbed him right in the heart.

Petunia puffed on her cigarette again and flicked the ash out of the window. "And don't write to us either. I don't want that demon bird of yours around here any more than it has to be. The neighbors are already talking about seeing flashing lights in your window, I don't need them seeing swooping owls in broad daylight."

"Alright." The knife in his chest twisted painfully.

"Then I suppose that's that." Petunia sniffed primly and dropped her cigarette out the window. "I hope you don't die too quickly – I hope you suffer for your stupidity."

Nothing more was said the rest of the drive.

When the car stopped in front of King's Cross train station, Harry barely managed to close the back of the car before Petunia sped off, causing a cloud of smoke to engulf Harry and he coughed from the fumes. With a great, tired sigh Harry picked up Merlin and checked for the hundredth time that his ticket was still in his pocket. He had no idea there was a Platform 9 ¾ but he made his way inside anyway, ignoring the odd looks the muggles kept shooting him. Most of them had never even seen an owl before, let alone one in a golden cage.

But as Harry found Platforms 9 and 10 easily enough, there was no such Platform 9 ¾ - the platforms were all whole numbers. "Excuse me?" Harry called to the ticket taker wandering around. "Excuse me, could tell me where I might find Platform 9 ¾ ?"

"Think you're being funny do ya?" The ticket taker scowled down at Harry. "I've better ways to waste my time than you boy."

Harry gaped angrily at the back of the ticket taker as he walked away. Now, what was he supposed to do? "Oh, I do hate using the Muggle entrance. Look at how they stare." Harry whipped around so fast that Merlin gave a screeching cry.

"Sorry," Harry murmured to his familiar as he found a witch clenching the shoulder of a boy Harry recognized. "Theodore!"

Theodore's head snapped to the side and his dark brows rose in surprise when he spotted Harry. Quietly, the boy said something to his mother and she nodded. Harry greeted them with a bright grin. "I'm so pleased to see you," Harry told Theodore before turning to who he suspected was his mother. "Hello, I'm Harry."

She gave him a polite, if not stiff, smile. "I am Justine Nott."

Harry turned to Theodore, "I can't find the platform for Hogwarts – the ticket taker says that Platform 9 ¾ doesn't exist, but it has to, right? Do you know how to find it? Is it a spell of some sort?"

Theodore's blank expression turned panicked slightly as he glanced up at his mother, whose smile had become chilly. "Uh, I mean, yes – it is a spell. The brick barrier between Platforms 9 and 10 is spelled to only look like a wall – it's actually a gateway."

Harry glanced at the wall skeptically, it certainly looked solid to him. "So, your saying I just have to –"

"Walk through it," Theodore confirmed, though he kept glancing at his mother's brittle smile. "Why don't we go first so you can see?"

Harry shrugged and nodded, "Alright then, after you."

He watched as the two walked casually up to the wall and then just _walked right through it._ As much as Harry loved magic, it was still disconcerting. Still, he screwed up his courage and ignored Merlin's panicked hoots – keeping his eyes wide open, Harry stepped through the wall.


	6. Chapter 6

_"_ _Happy families are all alike. Every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."_

 _\- Leo Tolstoy_

Chapter Six:

The Hogwarts Express was a crimson wonder gleaming in the sunlight. The cries of children and parents, the whistle of the train, and the conductor yelling for people to board all melted together in a beautiful cacophony of sound that left Harry breathless. Theodore and his mother had vanished but Harry was so enraptured by the gleaming train that he barely noticed. This was it. He was off to Hogwarts and he'd not have to return to the muggle world for over nine months.

 _He was free. He was a wizard._ Not even the Cheering Charm had elated him so much.

Merlin, deciding he'd had quite enough of his cage, hooted loudly and rustled his feathers – pulling Harry back to the present just as a family of redheads nearly shoved him out of the way. "Alright, alright," Harry groused, shooting a glare at the frumpy woman who'd nearly knocked him over. "I'll see you at Hogwarts then?"

Merlin gave a long, happy hoot and nipped Harry affectionately before taking flight. _Now,_ Harry thought to himself as he turned back to the Hogwarts Express, _time to find a place to sit._

In all of Harry's dreams, he had walked confidently up to the students trimmed in green and silver, introduced himself, and was immediately welcomed into a compartment packed full of future friends. The reality was nothing like Harry's dreams. Children racing up and down the aisles trying to find a compartment nearly trampled Harry and when he checked into compartments looking for similar flashes of green, he found no one wearing Hogwarts robes yet. Sighing in disappointment, Harry found an empty compartment near the back of the train and settled down with the _Compendium of Curses_ – a book the length of two of Harry's heads and thicker than his hand. He had still yet to finish it from cover to cover and was just slipping it open as the train pulled away from the station.

His gaze drifted from the text after only a few words and he looked out the window, watching witches and wizards wave goodbye to their children. He wondered, in the quiet of his compartment, what it would be like to have his parents waving him off. What would it be like to have someone to write home to when he was comfortably tucked into whatever house he was sorted into. What was it like to be alive and dead, lost in magical madness – considered dead by many and so hated that no one came to your aid?

Voldemort was out there somewhere. Wandless – a feeling Harry couldn't comprehend welled up and lodged in his throat like a stone – bodiless, and essentially only half – alive. Not a friend, not a follower, not anyone to put you back together again. Much like himself – if Harry fell down the same slope he too would have no one to pull him back from the brink or to bring him out of madness. No friends, no family…

The door to his compartment slid open and interrupted Harry's morose thoughts. "Hey Harry," Theodore gave a timid half-smile. "Sorry about earlier, my mother's a bit of a traditionalist."

"A traditionalist?" Harry repeated, his brows furrowing in confusion for a moment before they shot up into his hairline. "Oh, I see. Are you going to sit down?"

Theodore shot him a grateful smile and sat across from Harry by the window. He took one look at the giant tome on the table and let out a low whistle, "Expecting trouble, Harry? Most everyone on board is studying their textbooks and practicing spell work – and here you are studying curses."

"I like curses," Harry defended himself as he raised his chin up defiantly. "Besides, I've memorized Hepzibah's chart and all the spells I've practiced work alright – except for this one Cheering Charm. I wonder if it's still going."

"Think you might have gone a bit overboard with the studying?" Theodore shot him a curious glance and Harry's spine stiffened.

"No, I do not," Harry replied succinctly. He had spent every day of the last month deep in the trenches of magical theory and practice and he still did not feel it was enough time. _I'm still going to make a fool of myself._ "I've had thirty days to come to terms with the fact that I'm a wizard and learn all I could to prepare myself. I wasn't raised with magic like you were. I knew nothing – no matter how many books I read I still feel like I know nothing."

For a long moment, Theodore didn't respond. He merely sat there watching Harry with an expression Harry couldn't decipher – a mixture of pity and something else that was scarily similar to the way Professor Snape had looked at him. "You probably shouldn't tell people you like curses," Theodore gave a wry grin, effectively shattering the tension that had fallen between them. "That sort of makes people uncomfortable."

"Why? Does it make you uncomfortable?"

Theodore shrugged one shoulder, "Not really, I like them too. But a lot of people don't – a lot of people might think that because you like curses you might like _Dark Arts._ "

Harry reflected on that, trying to map out how one construed Curses to Dark Arts but the only conclusion he was able to make was that he really didn't know what a Dark Art was. _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ had given an overview of the Blood-Purity War and had given a totally falsified story on Harry's life considering he'd never spoken to anyone about his life, but it had never mentioned what the Dark Arts were specifically. "Is the Killing Curse a Dark Art?"

Theodore's naturally pale skin went absolutely white and his blue eyes widened comically. "The – the Killing Curse?"

Harry rolled his eyes, not understanding his reaction. "Yes, you know – the one that Voldemort tried to kill me with only it failed spectacularly?"

"Harry," Theodore looked around as if someone might be listening to them even though they were alone. "You shouldn't be talking about stuff like this. It's _really_ frowned upon."

Nearly growling in frustration, Harry said, "I don't understand why. You see? I really do know nothing, I don't even know what a Dark Art is!"

He was going to make a fool of himself, Harry was sure. Even now, when he didn't even understand how he was blundering it, Theodore looked about ready to bolt from the compartment and Harry only had whatever a "Dark Art" was to blame. "Who am I kidding, I'm going to be the laughing stock of Slytherin. At this rate, I'll probably not even be sorted. They'll see how stupid I am and just send me packing."

With a heavy sigh, Theodore sent Harry a withering glare. "If you ever tell anyone that I told you any of what I'm about to say you'll never tell anyone anything ever again, got it?"

Harry's spine stiffened and he sat up straighter as he nodded. Theodore however, fell back in his seat with the look of someone who was about to get into serious trouble. "The Killing Curse is one of three curses known as the _Unforgivable Curses._ There is no magic that can block them and the use of any Unforgivable on a human is a one-way ticket to Azkaban Prison. The Unforgivable Curses are _a_ Dark Art but there are a lot of others too. The Dark Arts – or _malfeasance_ as it used to be called – are powerful but also highly destructive and in some cases, addicting. There's blood magic, soul magic, death magic, mind magic, and some pretty nasty rituals." Theodore counted them off on his fingers like he was trying to recall a list he'd seen somewhere. "Basically, Dark Arts are the really powerful magic the Ministry has tried to kill off because they've deemed them too dangerous."

Harry was deeply unimpressed and wondered if he understood correctly. "So, the world won't end if the Dark Arts are used – it's just that they're dangerous, sometimes to yourself but mostly to others."

Theodore nodded, "Pretty much. I think the Ministry is dumb trying to suppress magic. I've heard the Dark Arts are unbelievably hard to cast for most people so it's not like people would go around throwing Unforgivables on a whim."

"Ah, I think it's more to protect the people who couldn't throw around Unforgivables," Harry said, pushing his glasses back up his nose and wishing he knew a charm to make them stay in place.

"Mother calls them worthless," Theodore responded simply with a shrug.

Harry didn't quite know what to say to that. If Dark Arts weren't talked about in polite conversation he had to wonder how Theodore knew. Had his mother told him all of that? Did Theodore know any Dark Arts? "I suppose I can see why she'd think that," Harry responded as diplomatically as he could. "I want to be a great wizard one day – I don't want there to be any magic that I can't do. I want to practice it all. That seems the only way to be a proper wizard."

Silently, he wondered what the other two Unforgivable Curses were but decided not to push his luck. Theodore was already looking at him as if he'd grown another head and once again Harry didn't really understand why. "You're an odd duck, Harry. Nothing like I expected."

Harry was just about to ask what he had expected when the door to their compartment slid open. An older woman with curly blue-grey hair and kind blue eyes smiled at them. "Anything off the trolley dears?" She waved her hand in front of her and Harry popped up, anxious for a Mars Bar that he so rarely ever got.

But when he looked over the many types of sweets, he recognized nothing. "I'll take one of everything," he said, realizing this was just yet another thing he had to learn.

Harry handed over a gold galleon and spread his treats out before him on the fold-out table. Theodore watched him with an amused expression. "I've never tried any of this," Harry defended himself from Theodore's scrutinizing gaze.

"Hey," Theodore raised his hands innocently. "I'm not judging. Want me to show you what's what?"

"That'd be great," Harry flashed him a grateful smile and gestured to the food, "and by all means, help yourself to whatever you like."

They spent the better part of an hour going over candy that made you breathe out steam, left your teeth chattering, and hopped. Harry very nearly had a heart attack when his Chocolate Frog actually _jumped_ out of its box and proceeded to jump out of the window. Theodore had found it utterly hilarious. They were both uncomfortably full of sugar and there was still over half of Harry's collection left when the door to the compartment slid open again.

This time, their intruders were two students about their age – one in muggle clothes and the other already in his Hogwarts robes – unadorned with House colors yet. "Have either of you seen a toad?" the girl in muggle clothes with big bushy hair asked. "Neville's lost one."

"No, sorry," Harry tried to offer a smile but he was sure it came out as more a grimace. His stomach was protesting the unusual intake of sugar in a violent manner.

"You could find a Prefect and ask them to summon it for you," Theodore offered with his own grimace that Harry was sure was not supposed to be a smile. His companion was looking at her muggle clothes distastefully though he said nothing about it.

"We've tried," the girl whined. "The Slytherin Prefect told us we were better off losing the toad permanently and the Ravenclaw Prefect wanted it for Potions ingredients. We've looked everywhere for the Gryffindor Prefect because the Hufflepuff Prefect can't summon animate things without killing them."

Even though he knew it was rude, Harry couldn't hold back his laugh. "I'm sorry," he wheezed at the girl's offended look. "It's just – nothing, never mind. Sorry, we can't help you more."

"Well if you do see a toad – oh, we never introduced ourselves. I'm Hermione Granger and this is Neville Longbottom, and you are?"

"Theodore Nott."

"Harry Potter."

Hermione and Neville's eyes widened at his name though Theodore looked oddly calm as if he had already figured it out. Which, in retrospect, Harry realized that it probably hadn't been too difficult because the wizarding world was small and everyone pretty much knew everyone else. "Are you really?" Hermione asked, taking a seat next to Theodore who squished himself against the wall. "I've read all about you, of course, in _A Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts,_ and –"

"I get it," Harry snapped a little more harshly than he meant to. He sighed and tried to push away his irritation. "I read _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ too and most of what was said about me was rubbish."

"Oh." Hermione flushed bright pink and nodded. "Well, we best be going. If you see a toad…"

"We'll make sure to find you," Harry told her, though he doubted he'd see one.

"Thank you," she replied primly and then they were gone, leaving Harry and Theodore alone.

"What?" Theodore demanded at the look Harry shot him.

"You didn't like her." Harry accused as he tossed a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean at Theodore.

"Well, you didn't like her either." Theodore scoffed and tossed the jellybean out the window.

Harry shrugged one should and cocked his head to the side. "I didn't not like her," he said slowly, "and I also didn't try to melt into the wall to avoid touching her. What was wrong with you?"

Theodore shot Harry a ferocious glare and crossed his arms. "Mother says I shouldn't associate with worthless magicians."

"But how do you know she's worthless?" Harry demanded irritably. "You've never even seen her cast any magic."

"I don't have to," Theodore turned up his nose and reached for a licorice wand. "She's a muggle-born."

"And that has something to do with her magical abilities?" Harry deadpanned disbelievingly.

"Of course it does, Circe's ghost – I keep forgetting how much you don't know." Harry stiffened at that but Theodore took no notice and rambled on. "Muggleborns are bottom tier magicians Harry, they're just as bad as families like the Bullstrode's and the Weasley's. Sure, they can cast spells and brew potions but they don't carry any family magic. They are the lowest rate magicians."

Harry felt his brows crinkle in confusion. "Family magic?" he asked, realizing Theodore was a font of magical knowledge better than any book he'd yet to read.

"The old families – the best magicians – carry family magics. Aptitudes for all sorts of really powerful magic." Theodore explained with bright eyes. "There are all sorts of abilities – Seer talents, Metamorphmagi, Flying, Mind magic, Animagus talents. Really there's a ton."

"I only know what half of that stuff is, you do realize that don't you?" Harry asked with a wry smile. How he hated only understanding half of the conversation. Sometimes he felt like he was learning an entirely new language.

"Oh right, sorry." Theodore flushed slightly and turned to kick his legs up on the seat. "Metamorphmagi are really rare, they can alter their appearance at will without their wand or any spells and Animagi are magicians who can turn into an animal at will."

Before Harry could ask any more questions, their compartment door slid open yet again, revealing a boy with shockingly blonde hair. Behind him, were two large boys with a glazed unintelligent look in their eyes that Harry had also seen in his cousin's eyes. "Well, well," the boy drawled as his silver eyes shot from Harry to Theodore. "What do we have here? The Boy-Who-Lived and the son of a Death Eater? What strange company you keep Potter."

Harry bristled, not only at how tense Theodore had become but at the mention of Death Eaters. He had read about them in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ , they were Voldemort's followers. Harry hadn't known that one of his new friend's parents had been a Death Eater and Theodore hadn't told him. "At least my father was loyal, Malfoy," Theodore spat with more emotion than Harry had ever seen the boy show. "Your father's nothing but a cop out and a traitor."

Harry watched as Malfoy flushed darkly and his eyes narrowed into slits. "My father was twice the wizard your father ever was, even before he started rotting in Azkaban."

In the years to come, the topic over who drew their wand first would become a heated debate many times. As it was, Harry barely realized what was happening as the two boys shot off magic so fast that he only had time to grab his tome on curses to shield himself. When he lowered the book, Malfoy was bleeding from his eyes and the front of Harry's tome was scorched black and smoking.

With a cry of rage, Malfoy left in seek of help and Harry scowled at Theodore as his book let off puffs of smoke on the table. The title and whole front cover had been scorched so badly it was unreadable. "You owe me a new book," Harry said flatly, turning his glare from Theodore to his book – unsure if he was really upset over the book or his new friend's father.

Theodore gave a loud sigh and Harry felt the overwhelming need to lighten the mood so he could process what he just learned. He had so many questions but his friend looked ready to punch a wall like Dudley did when he was terribly angry. "And what was that spell? You made his eyes bleed!"

A small, hardly noticeable twitch of Theodore's lips let Harry know that it was working. "It was _supposed_ to be an Entrails-Expelling Curse," he admitted rather begrudgingly. "Rather glad it didn't work. Draco isn't nearly as terrifying as his father and if I'd actually cursed his son my mother would have had a conniption pulling her weight around. I wonder if he'll cough up his liver like my cousin did."

Harry's jaw dropped open and he forgot the smoking book entirely. "You cursed your cousin?"

Theodore snickered and nodded proudly. "Just wait, if you get sorted into Slytherin you'll meet her and understand. Her name's Drusilla – she's a second-year."

"I cursed my cousin too," Harry admitted with a grin. "He was always beating me up so once I got my wand I lured him out to the park. It was more humiliating than actually dangerous though. My books definitely didn't have a curse that expels entrails – though I did give my uncle a nasty cold."

Theodore laughed and gestured to Harry's charred book. "I'll get you one that teaches you real curses – not those first-year pranks."

The smile Harry had felt fixed – forced even. He couldn't imagine making Dudley bleed out of his eyes. Well, he could, but he couldn't imagine a scenario where he could get away with it. Maybe if he knew a curse that lasted longer than the Tongue-Tying Curse Harry had used to prevent Dudley from talking about the incident at the park? Even still, he'd not get the chance to use magic outside of Hogwarts again until he graduated and by then he didn't see the point. He'd be long gone.

"So," Harry drawled slowly, wondering how to broach the subject he really wanted to talk about. "Your father was a Death Eater?"

"Oh, it's so much worse than that," Theodore looked at Harry with an unreadable expression. "My grandfather was one of the _original_ Death Eaters – a Knight of Walpurgis. My father was an inner circle Death Eater – one of the Dark Lord's most trusted."

A shiver rolled down Harry's spine and he tried desperately to not to let a single muscle betray his wariness. "And you're okay with just – telling…I mean –"

"It's not like it isn't common knowledge," Theodore rolled his eyes. "The Dark Lord is dead, my grandfather is dead, and my father's already serving a life sentence in Azkaban for it. The whole world knows because my father stayed loyal to the very end – unlike Malfoy's traitorous father who pleaded that he was bewitched by the Dark Lord into doing his bidding. Had to throw a _lot_ of money around to make that story believable."

Harry was saved from answering as a Prefect in green opened the door and told them to change into their robes. They'd be arriving at Hogwarts soon.


	7. Chapter 7

_"_ _What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."_

 _\- Ralph Waldo Emerson_

Chapter Seven:

As the train pulled to a stop, Harry and Theodore finished pulling on their robes. They left their trunks on the train and stepped out into the pandemonium of students all trying to exit the train at once. Harry had been shoved twice and elbowed until he was sure he'd have a bruise before the two finally managed to exit the train. "Whoa," Theodore gasped from beside him as they stepped out of the train and Harry looked up to see what had caught his attention.

Standing amongst the students crowding the platform, was the largest man Harry had ever seen. Bigger around than Vernon, taller and far wider than even the trunk store shopkeeper – the man had to be a giant. There was no way a man could be that big and not be magical.

"FIRST YEARS!" The man boomed, his voice like thunder, and the students around him squealed in terror. "OVER HERE FIRST YEARS!"

"I've heard of him," Theodore whispered to Harry as they made their way to the giant man. "Mother says he's got creature blood in him. He's the groundskeeper here."

"It has to be giant's blood," Harry whispered back as they were herded down a path.

"Right now, listen up," the giant groundskeeper called. "We're takin' the boats up ter the school. Four to a boat and be careful! We don't need ter be losin' a student to the Giant Squid on the first night."

Harry and Theodore shared a boat with two girls who looked like twins. They didn't offer their names though and the group was too preoccupied with thoughts of a Giant Squid to converse much. The water was as darker than the night sky overhead. Without the light pollution from muggle cities, the stars shone down brightly in such number that Harry was having trouble awaiting the sight of the _castle_. He kept watching the sky in wonder, trying to commit nature's majesty to his memory.

But the collective gasp of all the students tore Harry's gaze from the sky and he too lost the ability to breathe. Hogwarts was breathtaking – alight in the warm orange glow of firelight, the castle rose into the sky with unparalleled beauty and ferocity. The castle was as intimidating as it was splendid… _and it felt like home._

As they left their boats to walk up the lawn, Harry was stunned silent as was the rest of the students. Only Hermione saw fit to ruin the moment by loudly telling Neville about the one hundred and forty-two staircases that _moved_ and even then, Harry only half heard her. Hagrid led the first years up the lawn to a large set of double doors and pounded loudly, each thud sounding like a cannon blast.

The door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman in emerald robes and wide-brimmed pointed hat. Her eyes took in the sight of the students behind square spectacles as Hagrid declared, "The students, Professor McGonagall."

"Of course, Hagrid." She told the groundskeeper, "I'll take them from here. Follow me."

The first-years obeyed and followed quietly behind Professor McGonagall. Whispered conversations were flying around like crazy as students pointed to a portrait that was _moving_ – much to Harry's delight. They were led into a small antechamber where another set of double doors were waiting for them. "Excuse me," Professor McGonagall called for silence as she stood before the group. "Welcome to Hogwarts. The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend your free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin." At this Theodore nudged Harry and gave him a smirk. "Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"Before we begin with the Sorting Ceremony I suggest you take a moment to smarten yourselves up."

With that, she slipped through the doors in a perfectly executed move that left the sight beyond a complete mystery. The red-haired boy standing next to Harry rubbed furiously at his nose with the sleeve of his _grey_ robes and Harry noticed a rather singed looking hole on his shoulder. Theodore turned to Harry and gave a heaving sigh of disappointment. "Your hair," he moaned, "looks like you've just finished flying."

Harry tried nervously to smooth his wild hair but he knew the effort was futile. It always did whatever it wanted and Harry was unable to tame it.

"So how is it they sort us into houses?" One girl with two blonde pigtails asked loudly.

"Dunno for sure," the redhead called back, "but my brothers said it was some kind of bloody painful test."

Harry stiffened as he felt panic bubbling in his stomach. Immediately his mind was trying to think of all the theory he'd read and all the spells he'd practiced. Hermione was in much the same boat as Harry as she began muttering off all the spells she knew in alphabetical order. But what if they asked him something about magical culture? All he really knew was very little and they'd see right through him. Would they send him back to Private Drive because he was so ignorant?

Screams erupted from his fellow students, breaking Harry out of his spiraling thoughts, and he looked up, half-terrified. Theodore was snickering to himself as the ghosts drifted slowly through the walls and over their heads. "They're just ghosts, Harry," he teased playfully. "They can't hurt you."

The ghosts bantered playfully and waved to the students before drifting off through the walls. Harry turned to his friend and shoved him away with a playful glare. "Stop laughing at me, you never told me ghosts were real!"

Harry never noticed Professor McGonagall slip back into the room until she cleared her throat. The quiet conversations died as she sent a stern glare towards the group. "We are ready for you now."

With a wave of her hand, the giant double-doors opened and Theodore reached across the empty space between the two lines they'd formed and pinched Harry's arm lightly. "Good luck," he whispered.

"Good luck," Harry whispered back feeling as though he might be as sick as Vernon had been that morning.

The Great Hall was a splendid sight to behold. Hundreds of floating in the air and above them, the night's sky shone just as brightly as it had outside, and hundreds of students dressed in their formal robes were siting at four long tables that spanned the length of the Great Hall were all staring at them. Up ahead, spanning the entire width of the Great Hall and raised up higher than rest, were the teachers. Even as Harry walked his eyes landed on Professor Snape and he felt his confidence bolster with each step. He could do this, he would do this, he _had_ to do this.

Failing was simply not an option at this point.

Once the two lines of first-year students stood before the professors and Professor McGonagall, who was standing beside a stool holding a thick roll of parchment in one hand and a dirty old hat in the other, they meshed into an amoeba of faces before her. Theodore was quick to budge the dirty redhead out of the way and took his place next to Harry silently.

"Welcome first-years," Professor McGonagall proclaimed proudly. "When I call your name, you will sit on this stool and I will place the Sorting Hat upon your head. Once you have been sorted you will join your house table and wait patiently for the others to be sorted."

With one hand holding the top of the scroll, Professor McGonagall let roll drop and gravity unraveled it for her. "Hannah Abbott!"

The girl with blonde pigtails stepped forward nervously, dragging her feet as she climbed the steps to sit on the stool. The dirty old hat was much too big for her head but her pigtails stopped it from sliding down and enveloping her head. Harry watched as the girl paled and let out a quiet shriek before her body relaxed in a way that made him nervous. Was she being cursed? Perhaps they had to counter a curse for their test.

But no sooner did Harry caress his wand holstered underneath his shirt than a rip in the hat opened wide and proclaimed, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Harry nearly gaped as the girl smiled and slid off her chair, nearly running to the table trimmed in yellow who was cheering for her. Professor McGonagall looked back to the list and Harry felt his attention drift back to Professor Snape. The dour professor looked just as he had when he had stunned Harry's uncle almost a month ago. He was still wearing his black robes and if anything was different Harry thought the man looked a little more annoyed than he had the last time Harry had seen him. They locked glances and Harry gave a small smile as Professor Snape nodded lightly.

"Hermione Granger!" Professor McGonagall called and Harry watched as Hermione stepped forward, mumbling to herself her alphabetical list of spells.

When the Sorting Hat was released from Professor McGonagall's hand the hat swallowed Hermione's head. It covered nearly her entire face but Harry could see her jaw drop open in surprise. For a long time, nothing happened. They waited and waited as the silence stretched on, tense and full of anticipation. Finally, when Harry was starting to get seriously worried someone from the crowd called, "Hatstall!"

Professor McGonagall gave whoever it was a stern look before turning back to Hermione. The girl was fidgeting – her hands shaking and her feet were kicking against the stool restlessly. Harry wondered what on earth kind of test it could be where the pigtailed girl could pass it almost instantly and yet Hermione, the girl with the alphabetical list of spells, struggled. It did not bode well for him in any case. Finally, after a full five and half minutes, the rip in the hat opened up and spit out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione's smile was instant and blinding as she handed the hat back to a smug looking Professor McGonagall. The house of red and gold erupted into cheers that echoed through the hall as Hermione nearly skipped to her new house.

A few more names were called but none of them took half as long as Hermione Granger's sorting. Harry lost interest after the third Hufflepuff in a row was sorted and his gaze traveled from the Sorting Ceremony to the high table. Right in the dead center, sat an old wizard with a long white beard and bright blue twinkling eyes. He sat in the middle of the table, the spot of most importance, and his chair was a gaudy gold throne in which he could oversee the entire Hall. Harry figured this was Headmaster Dumbledore but he wasn't able to stare long because Theodore elbowed Harry and nodded to the Sorting Hat.

Draco Malfoy sauntered forward with confidence Harry wish he felt. The hat just barely brushed Malfoy's neatly combed hair when it shouted, "SLYTHERIN!"

Harry looked at Theodore and raised his brows in surprise. His friend simply shrugged as if to say, _he is a Malfoy after all._ "Theodore Nott!" Professor McGonagall called far sooner than Harry was ready for. Part of him wanted to clutch Theodore's sleeve and hold him back because he didn't like the risk of being separated from his new friend. But Harry clenched his hands into fists by his side and watched as Theodore strolled forward just as arrogantly as Malfoy had.

Watching intently, Harry saw that as soon as the hat was lowered onto his friends face he went pale. Theodore's hands clenched the stool so hard that his knuckles turned as white as his face. After a long minute, the rip opened and called out, "SLYTHERIN!"

Theodore sent Harry a look before turning to sit at the end of the table trimmed in green who applauded politely for their newest member. And then, it was Harry's turn.

"Harry Potter!"

The Great Hall came alive as Harry watched, stomach churning in anxiety. Not so whispered whispers flew around the hall and Harry watched as even the Headmaster sat forward, peering intently at Harry.

 _"_ _Harry Potter?"_

 _"_ _Is that him – the one who killed You-Know-Who?"_

 _"_ _The Harry Potter?_

 _"_ _Mother says he's terribly powerful –"_

 _"_ _Look at his scar!"_

With determination, Harry copied Theodore's carefree gate even as he felt like he might suddenly throw up all the sugar they had eaten on the train. He sat on the stool and the last thing Harry saw before Professor McGonagall lowered the Sorting Hat onto his head was the entire Hall nearly standing in order to stare at him.

 _'_ _Mmmm...what do we have here?"_ A voice in Harry's mind would have made him jump if he had not been expecting some kind of an attack. But this was a test, a sorting, and he would not fail. _'Difficult. Very difficult. There's plenty of courage I see. Yes. And not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself. You'll do best in – "_ SLYTHERIN!"

Harry wanted to slump in relief but the sight of the Great Hall all frozen in their attempts to get a peek at him held him rigid. No one clapped as they had for the other students. In fact, Harry was pretty sure no one blinked as Harry handed the hat back to a pale Professor McGonagall. He tried to smile at her but she continued to stare at him in disbelief until a lone clap broke her out her stupor. Harry turned and nearly lost composure when he found Theodore Nott clapping for him and then only a few seconds later the whole of Slytherin followed suit.

"Thank you," Harry whispered to his friend after he sat down next to him. "What was wrong with them?"

Theodore gave him the same look he had given Harry when he had been asking questions earlier on the train. Harry began to think of it as a fond annoyance. "Slytherin's got a nasty reputation with the other houses. They think we're all evil or something. I guess it's fair since we think all the Gryffindor's are empty-headed buffoons and Hufflepuff's a bunch of duffers." He paused and tapped his chin with his finger, "Maybe it's also got something to do with _him_ being a Slytherin."

Harry nearly exclaimed Voldemort's name in surprise, which would have been as loud as the groundskeeper in the quiet of the Sorting Ceremony. Thankfully, Harry managed not to cry out but as he turned back to the ceremony all he could think of was Voldemort.

The madman. The revolutionary. The murderer. The lonely soul. The brother of his wand. Voldemort had been in Slytherin. He had sat at this very same table once upon a time. He had once endured the same anxiety over a stupid hat as Harry had just endured. Voldemort had been eleven and new to the castle and now he was out there somewhere – bodiless and alone and mad.

Harry clapped politely when Theodore nudged him to do so but Harry couldn't concentrate on what was happening. His scar began to prickle and even though it was painful per se, the odd sensation surprised Harry so much that he clapped a hand to his forehead and gasped. "What is it?" Theodore leaned in and hissed worriedly.

"Nothing," Harry lied, unsure of what had just happened. All he knew was that the Headmaster was standing now and Professor Snape was staring at Harry with a puzzled look. Harry turned back to the table and listened with half an ear as the Headmaster made announcements about the Forbidden Forest, magic in the hallways, and the third-floor corridor that was off limits under pain of death.

"And now," Headmaster Dumbledore called, "let's tuck in."

With one clap of his hands, the entire table filled with food and Harry forgot all about his scar tingling as he took in more food than he'd ever seen in his life. "Well Harry," Theodore said while piling his plate high with food from every platter, "you made it. How does it feel?"

Harry grinned ruefully, "The silence was a bit unnerving – thanks for that – but I suppose I'm rather pleased. I mean I would have been happy just not being sent home but it feels pretty great to be a Slytherin."

"Just you wait," a girl down the table told him with a sharp grin. Harry recognized her as one of the twins that Theodore and he had shared a boat with. "I've heard the other houses like to gang up on unsuspecting snakes. We're not allowed to go anywhere alone for like the first month."

"I'd like to see them try," Harry replied more confidently than he felt. He pictured Theo making Draco's eyes bleed – even though the blonde sat just a few seats away perfectly fine. If Theo could _that_ before he even got to Hogwarts – what could the older students do?

"Oh please," Malfoy scoffed loudly. "And what would you do to defend yourself? Shoot sparks at them until laughed themselves to death?"

"Says the boy who couldn't hit a target not three feet from him," Harry hissed back through clenched teeth.

"At least I can –"

"Enough," the older boy immediately to Harry's left growled. "Save your spats for the common room. We have enough enemies out in the open without turning on each other."

Harry knew the older boy had a point but he still shot Malfoy a glare. "Never thought I'd see the day Harry Potter was sorted into Slytherin though," the older boy continued, ignoring the glaring first years. "What family did you end up with?"

Harry was about to answer that he'd been raised by muggles when Theodore jumped in and cut Harry off. "Aren't you Cassius Warrington?" He asked, his face a mask of bright-eyed curiosity. Harry gave him an annoyed look at being cut off.

"I am," the older boy confirmed. "I'm the fifth-year Prefect and I'll be your mentor/guide/protector for the rest of the year. You're a Nott, right?"

Theodore nodded from beside him and Harry watched as Malfoy and the other first years curled their lips. "Think our fathers are cell buddies?" He asked with his expression dark and grim.

Harry stiffened slightly as he realized Warrington was also the son of a Death Eater. How many were there? How many of his fellow Slytherins sat beside him, curling their lips at Warrington and Theodore while their own parents had escaped Azkaban like Malfoy's father? He desperately wanted to believe it didn't matter but he wasn't naïve enough for that.

And what did it say about him that his only friend was the son of a Voldemort loyalist – Theodore was a third generation supporter – and that his house had been the very house Voldemort himself had been sorted into?

"I can't wait for our first Potions class," the girl who was one half of a twin set asked loudly, interrupting Harry's silent panic. "What about you Flora? What class are you excited for?"

Her twin sister, Flora, frowned before she shrugged. "Father refused to send us to Durmstrang when I was ever so looking forward to their rigorous Dark Arts program. I suppose I'll have to make due with Defense Against the Dark Arts but it won't be the same."

Malfoy gave the twins a sympathetic look. "Father wanted to send me to Durmstrang but mother wouldn't hear of it. She didn't like me going so far away. It is a shame though, now that they let just any old riffraff be a Slytherin these days." Harry didn't miss the look Malfoy cast in his direction.

"Don't listen to them Harry," Theodore whispered to him. "Malfoy's just jealous you'd befriend a social outcast like me and not him."

"Malfoy's a prat. What's Durmstrang?" Harry whispered back as he speared a potato with his fork.

"Another magical school – kinda like Hogwarts only it teaches the Dark Arts heavily," Theodore replied as Malfoy went off on another tangent about letting riffraff into the school in general. "There's Beauxbatons as well, in France. That's where a lot of the magical creatures like Vampires, Veela, and Werewolves go."

By the time Harry finished his plate and digesting all he'd learned over dinner, he was quite ready for bed. His eyes were drooping heavily and the conversation around him had turned into speculation over classes and dorms and the Slytherin common room. Theodore seemed almost as tired as Harry was because his naturally rigid posture was slumped against Harry as they tried to hold themselves up.

"I'm so ready for bed," Harry whined quietly.

"Just think - one trek down into the dungeons, a shower, and then you can crawl into bed." Harry groaned.


	8. Chapter 8

_"_ _Let's be real. Fact is, we might be better served to accept that we are all siblings.  
Siblings fight, pull each other's hair, steal stuff, and accuse each other indiscriminately.  
But siblings also know the undeniable fact that they are the same blood, share the same origins, and are family.  
Even when they hate each other. And that tends to put all things in perspective."_

 _-Vera Nazarian_

Chapter Eight:

The trek down into the dungeons was cold, damp, and in some parts – frightening. The dungeons weren't brightly lit like the rest of the castle Harry had seen so far. Warrington led the group of first-years down a labyrinth of dark corridors and the further they progressed, the tighter the group of newcomers jammed together. Theodore was on Harry's right looking a little off-put while Malfoy had ended up so close on Harry's left that they weren't just brushing arms – it was like they were welded together at the shoulder. Flora, the girl at dinner who lamented Durmstrang and Dark Arts was clutching her sister who in turn was clutching Theodore's free arm tightly. Malfoy even had a small, pug-nosed girl clinging to his side.

The only one who didn't join the huddle of reluctant first-years was girl with long blonde hair and the strangest pale maroon eyes. She walked like a poem Harry once heard – in beauty in the dark. Her chin was lifted haughtily and her shoulders were set in determination – the only betrayal to her nonchalance was her wand arm rigidly held apart from her, ready to snap into action at the slightest disturbance.

"Theo," Harry tried out the nickname and was relieved when the corner of his friend's mouth quirked up ever so slightly. "Who's that?"

His voice hadn't raised above a whisper but Malfoy was standing so close that he heard and turned his head in the direction Harry nodded. "Daphne Greengrass, her father's one powerful bloke. He's on the Board of Governors, holds a large sway in the Wizengamot, and he's in the International Confederation of Wizards."

"She's out of your league, Potter," Malfoy sent Harry a smug smirk.

Harry flushed and narrowed his eyes, "I don't want to kiss the girl, Malfoy. I just wondered why it seems like she's made the trip before."

Warrington led the group even further below ground, twisting through corridors Harry was sure he'd never remember in the morning. "She probably has Harry," Theo sent Malfoy a glare over Harry's short stature. "I wouldn't be surprised. Daphne is her father's heir – all of us heirs are groomed by our parents to take control of our family power when the time comes."

Before Harry could contemplate his friend being an heir and having been _groomed_ for it – and his distinct lack of grooming – Warrington stopped the group. Harry looked around, searching for a door or anything really that could hide an entrance – but he found nothing. There were only two torches, burning with green fire – one on each side of a blank brick wall. "Wormwood," Warrington said loud enough for all the first-years to hear.

To Harry's surprise - though he decided that by this point walls that moved or weren't really walls shouldn't really be that surprising – the blank wall in between the torches gave a heaving groan, moved back, and then slid to the side to reveal an entrance. Warrington gestured for them to follow and they did, quite happy to finally be out of the damp dungeons. Inside, Harry felt all his misgivings about Voldemort loyalists and his housemates fall away at his feet. The Slytherin Common Room was breathtaking. There was a distinctly underwater shipwreck feel to his new common room - on either side of the giant black marble fireplace burning bright and warm with green fire there were absolutely massive floor to ceiling windows draped with Slytherin green curtains. The windows didn't look out onto the grounds though, no – the windows looked out into a lake where giant forests of kelp grew like trees.

The first-years gasped loudly as a bewildering creature holding a small triton swam by, its tentacle-like appendages moving like an octopus Harry had seen at the zoo. The creature stopped, turned its head to the window, and grinned a razor-sharp smile before launching itself away. Harry couldn't suppress his grin as turned from the view and studied his new house. The ceilings were so high and vaulted that Harry was sure he could feel the magic in the room prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. Portraits, moving and waving at the newest snakes, lined the walls were bookshelves hadn't been placed and there were statues – huge white marble statues of what Harry guess were past famous Slytherins.

All around the enormous common room were black leather couches and comfortable looking armchairs. Harry counted no less than half a dozen expensive looking chess sets and the worktables were even beautifully carved masterpieces. In the center of it all, was a large fountain bubbling in a quiet soothing rush of white noise that Harry felt he could fall asleep to, even standing as he was.

"Wow," Harry breathed as the first-years all shuffled down the steps to stand before a group of older students all pinned with a Prefect badge. There was a blonde girl, centered before them, her badge gleamed gold whereas her peers all wore silver badges.

"Welcome," she greeted them once they had all fell into silence before her. "My name is Gemma Farley and I'm Head Girl this year at Hogwarts. I'm delighted to congratulate you on your sorting little snakes, I hope as you grow you will do our house proud. As you can see, our view is a bit different to the rest of the houses of Hogwarts; ours is the Black Lake and the hundreds of species of creatures that it plays home to. The Black Lake is a magical ecosystem completely independent of the rest of the grounds – just as we Slytherin's are.

"While you are here you will no doubt be called dark, evil, or prejudiced. The other houses have a very poor opinion of us because it is well known that Slytherin produces some of the greatest wizards the world has ever seen. Slytherin has been home to great wizards like Merlin but we have also been home to Dark Lords and _malfeasance._ As such, we Slytherins are apart from the rest of the houses – functioning independently and as such, outside of the common room, we are one.

"Solidarity amongst our house is key to survival here at Hogwarts. All vendettas are forgotten once you step foot outside our house. We are stronger together and when the time comes for you to defend a Slytherin you dislike, know that when it is your turn to be bullied and humiliated for the color of your trim the person you dislike may just be the one to save you a trip to the infirmary. We are a solid unit, a family and as such there will be squabbles, lying, and thieving – but at the end of the day we are all Slytherins and we have each other's backs when it matters. We are all brothers and sisters here and do you know why? Because Salazar Slytherin looked for seeds of greatness in his students. You've been sorted into the most difficult _and_ rewarding house at Hogwarts because you have the potential to be great. So, build each other up, help one another water that seed of greatness tucked somewhere inside of you – and along the way you'll find you are part of something larger than yourself, you're apart of Slytherin."

She paused and Harry watched with rapt attention as Gemma Farley gave them a long, measuring look. "A few notices before we show you to your dorms. Cassius Warrington will be your go-to man whenever you have a problem, be it you get lost or need help. The password to the common room changes each fortnight and is posted on the notice board," at this, she motioned to large board pinned neatly by the door to the common room. "You will share dorms until your fifth year whereupon you will be assigned your own room and boys are strictly forbidden from entering girl's dorms. You are expected to be up and ready to go by seven-thirty each morning, tardiness will not be tolerated. I think that's about everything. Once again, I welcome you all to Slytherin – the greatest of the Hogwarts Four."

Warrington led the boys down a hallway to the left and stopped at the first door on the right-hand side. It had a sign above the door that read, _'Novice.'_ Inside, there were three huge beds lined against two walls and Harry spotted his trunk at the end of a bed in the far corner. Much to his delight, he found Theo's initials on a trunk next to his in the middle. The dorm was just as lavishly decorated as the common room and Harry tried not to show how unused he was to having his own bed or the green silk sheets or the soft, heavy grey down comforter.

But he was far too tired to do much more than change before he fell into a deep, terrible sleep.

Harry woke up sweating, unable to remember his dream clearly but fighting off the awful isolation and helplessness that was still coursing through his veins. He didn't know what time it was, but it was still early. The other boys were still sleeping quietly around him as Harry tucked his knees to his chest and watched a giant tentacle moving through the kelp forest.

He didn't know what to make of Voldemort. Harry wanted to hate the man on principle – he had _killed_ Harry's parents leaving him to be stuck with the Dursleys – but how could you hate someone for being afflicted? When Harry thought of Voldemort he didn't feel rage or hatred, he felt…sorry for the wizard who had been great enough to start a revolution and then been lost and abandoned in madness. It made him shudder just to ponder how Voldemort was surviving without a body.

With all of his loyal supporters locked away Voldemort's only hope was a follower who had denounced him or turned traitor to escape Azkaban. Ten years had passed – _a full decade –_ since the wizard had experienced the comfort of touching something soft or eating a warm meal. A decade had passed since Voldemort had grasped his own wand – a feeling Harry cherished above all others.

Harry heaved a great sigh and got out of bed, heading towards the showers. It wouldn't be long now before the other boys began to wake so he might as well start his day. Once he was dressed, Harry grabbed _Book of Spells Volume 2_ and headed out into the common room to practice until the others were ready for breakfast.

 _"_ _Lumos_ ," Harry intoned, flicking his wand down in a sharp but small gesture. Much to his displeasure, the tip of his wand flickered momentarily before it sputtered and died out.

 _"_ _Lumos,"_ Harry tried again with an even sharper flick of his wrist. The tip of his wand sparked nastily and then died out like an ember.

Harry nearly growled out, _"Lumos."_ This time he was so annoyed that instead of using the sharp downwards flick of his wand like the book called for, Harry held his wand vertically and gave it a sharp flick towards the wall. Light exploded from the end of his wand so brightly that the flash blinded him and Harry cried out, "AGH!"

Snickering alerted Harry to the fact that he wasn't alone and, in a rage, Harry muttered, " _Nox."_ The spell ended and Harry blinked away black dots in his vision as he realized Malfoy was watching him by the fire.

Harry stiffened as a cruel smirk curled on Malfoy's lips. "Can't even light the tip of your wand properly, Potter. I can't believe they let you into Slytherin let alone the school. Your idiotic father should have bedded better than a _mudblood._ "

Rage boiled in Harry's veins. So far, he had tolerated Malfoy's snarky comments, content to just ignore the stupid boy. Now though, even if he wasn't sure what a mudblood was, he knew it to be an insult – something bad and nasty from the way Malfoy spat it like a curse. "Don't you insult my family Malfoy," Harry warned the arrogant prat.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and his smirk grew, "Or you'll what Potter? Blind me with a flash of light? You're a pathetic wizard – just like your father and just like your _mudblood_ mother."

Harry was up off the couch with his wand in his hand before Malfoy's eyes could even widen in surprise. _"Furnunculus,_ " Harry cried out as he executed Hepzibah's eighth wand movement. _"Locomotor Wibbly,"_ He continued, surprised the pimples growing rapidly over Malfoy's face turned into tentacles.

Malfoy screamed and covered his face but Harry, who was still blistering in rage, wasn't finished. _"Calvorio,"_ Harry swished his wand and the movement rolled fluidly into the next curse, _"Locomotor Mortis."_

To cap it all off Harry sent a Tongue-Tying Curse to keep the pompous boy suffering longer. By this time Malfoy was wailing and screeching about dying as he tried to hide his face and not touch the tentacles sprouting and wiggling from his skin. Harry head the sound of the rest of the house coming and he quickly grabbed his book and left the common room.

Keeping one hand on the outside wall, Harry knew it would take him time to find his way out of the labyrinth of damp dungeon hallways but as he trekked ever upward, it gave him time for his blood to cool. By the time he did reach the Great Hall, he was past calm and had shot straight into panicked. He was one of the few students in the Great Hall, there were a handful of other older Slytherins and a group of Ravenclaws but the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables were completely empty.

Would they expel him for attacking Malfoy? Harry sighed as he scooped scrambled eggs onto his plate. It would have to be some kind of record if he was expelled before classes even began and then what would he do? It's not like he could tuck tail and return to Private Drive. Petunia might actually bury him beneath the rose bushes if he got expelled.

Harry hadn't eaten a single bite of his eggs, he was still pushing them around and mauling them into mush, when Theo sat down next to him. Harry looked up and found the other first-years shooting him looks as they sat down at the table. "Someone cursed Malfoy pretty bad," Theo murmured quietly to Harry after a few minutes.

Harry had to hide his shaking hands in his lap. "Oh really?" He asked, feigning innocence even as his whole body felt jittery.

Theo nodded as he scooped eggs onto his own plate. "You know," Theo hummed thoughtfully as Harry felt his stomach churn, "it was _pretty humiliating but not very dangerous._ "

Harry turned sharply and eyed his friend. Theo had a lazy smile curling his lips as his eyes sparkled in mirth, he seemed completely unconcerned – if not pleased. "Is that so?" Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. "I suppose he should be thankful then."

Pouring Pumpkin Juice into both of their goblets, Theo nodded. "Maybe it'll teach him a lesson about running his mouth."

"Theo?"

"Hm?"

"What's a mudblood?" Harry asked quietly, quite aware that it wasn't anything good and didn't want to be overheard.

For a moment Theo sputtered and spit his juice back into his goblet. After he had finished meticulously wiping his mouth and chin, he turned to Harry. "It's a really foul name for a muggle-born. It means they have _dirty_ blood – contaminated by muggles. I don't like Muggle-borns, but I don't think they're contaminated. I like to think of them as fresh blood so my future kids don't have to end up marrying their cousins _._ " Theo looked at Harry seriously, his whole body turned towards him. "Is that what he said to you?"

Harry nodded, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth as it went dry.

"Then he got what he deserved," Theo muttered angrily as he speared his eggs.

They didn't talk much more as the rest of the Great Hall slowly filled up. The Gryffindors were the last table to be seated and by then all of Slytherin was in attendance, sans Malfoy, and Professor Snape came over holding a large stack of parchment. Harry watched as Professor Snape stood behind Flora and her twin as they whispered to each other – no doubt talking about Malfoy – his obsidian gaze roaming over the first years. Harry dropped his gaze as Professor Snape hissed, "Where is Draco Malfoy?"

Harry's hands shook in his lap as he pretended to be very interested in his cold eggs. "He's locked himself in the loo in the first-year dorm, Professor," a boy with bronze skin and mesmerizing hazel eyes that Harry only faintly recalled as Blaise Zabini said. "I tried to get him to come out but he's locked the door and was yelling about cabbages."

The table erupted into snickers as Harry's body went numb. "I think he's been cursed sir, but he won't let anyone in to see." Cassius Warrington looked genuinely concerned for the pompous git who had sneered at him only the night before.

Professor Snape's eyes glittered in barely suppressed fury. "Warrington with me, Pucey hand out these schedules."

Both boys jumped up and as soon as the schedules were in Pucey's hands, Professor Snape left the Great Hall in a flurry of black robes billowing out behind him. Warrington followed a few feet behind and with every step they took Harry felt his stomach drop lower and lower.

"Carrow," Prefect Pucey called out and both Flora and her twin raised their hands. Pucey handed them schedules and Harry watched as he made his way down the list until he handed Harry his own schedule.

"I can't believe we have nearly every class with Gryffindors," Theo whined from beside him. "Astronomy and Charms are with Ravenclaws but still – who on earth thought pairing us with Gryffindors was a good idea?"

Harry couldn't find it within himself to care much. He probably wouldn't even get to go to his first class. As soon as Malfoy opened his big mouth Harry would be expelled and shipped home.

"Potter," Harry and Theo whipped around to find Warrington standing behind them looking serious. "Professor Snape would like to see you in his office."

"Go on Harry," Theo encouraged though he too looked a little scared. "It'll be fine."

Harry stood and followed Warrington, feeling the eyes of his entire house on his back as they exited the Great Hall. It wasn't until they were in the dungeons that Warrington looked to Harry's trembling hands and asked, "Why?"

"He called my mum a mudblood," Harry ground out through clenched teeth, feeling the blistering heat of anger once again boiling his blood. To his surprise, his hands stopped shaking as his anger began to rear its ugly head.

"Eep," Harry cried as Warrington grabbed him by the collar of his robe and pulled him off to a side hallway.

Giving Harry a long, scrutinizing look, he sighed and said, "Give me your wand."

"What?" Harry demanded, feeling his muscles go rigid.

"You heard what I said Potter," Warrington growled in irritation. "Give me your wand before I change my mind."

Mutely, Harry handed over his wand and watched Warrington give it a flick. _"Priori Incantato,"_ the older boy whispered and Harry's eyes went wide as the last three spells he had cast hung ghostly in the air. He was doomed, he realized, if they could read his wand there was no lying his way out. _"Deletrius, Deletrius, Deletrius,"_ with each flick of his wand Harry watched as the spells disappeared.

"How many times did you curse him?" Warrington asked as he once again flicked Harry's wand. _"Priori Incantato."_

Harry thought for a moment before he answered, "Five times."

Warrington chuckled and flicked the wand, _"Deletrius, Deletrius."_

The last two curses vanished from Harry's wand and he stared with wide eyes as Warrington handed him back his wand. "Thank you," he finally managed as Warrington pushed him back out into the main corridor.

"Don't thank me yet," Warrington warned him. "I've scrapped the evidence but you're going to have to lie to Professor Snape and that's easier said than done. Just don't look him in the eye or else he'll know your lying."

They stopped in front an arched, heavy wooden door that Harry didn't recognize. "Oh, and Potter?" Harry turned back to glance at Warrington, "You owe me."

With a nod, Harry turned back to the door and took a deep breath. Mustering all the anger he had felt earlier, Harry let it build until his hands were steady and then he reached up and knocked. "Come in," Professor Snape snapped loudly through the door.

Harry entered and found himself in an odd room. There were shelves on the walls holding jars of pickled animals he couldn't recognize and there was a cauldron simmering and smoking in the corner. Professor Snape sat behind a large desk with fury in his eyes and a scowl marring his lips. Malfoy sat, bald and pock-marked and flushed a deeply unflattering red as he glared at Harry. "Hello Professor," Harry shot Malfoy a quizzical glance before turning to his Head of House. "Malfoy?"

"It would seem, Mr. Potter," Professor Snape drawled slowly, his hands laced together in front of him, "that Mr. Malfoy was attacked this morning before breakfast."

"How awful," Harry replied, looking to Malfoy and hearing the word _mudblood_ over and over again in his mind.

"Yes," Professor Snape said, "but it would seem, fortunately, that Mr. Malfoy saw his attacker."

"Oh?" Harry asked, his face carefully blank as he looked at Professor Snape's crooked nose.

"Do you have anything to say, Mr. Potter?" Professor Snape asked, his expression twisted in anger.

Harry shook his head, "No sir. I left early after a nightmare woke me up before everyone else. I got hungry so I went to the Great Hall on my own. I haven't seen Malfoy since last night."

"LIAR!" Malfoy screeched and stood so forcefully that he knocked his chair over. "Uncle Sev he's _lying!"_

Uncle Sev? Harry thought to himself with a frown. His stomach churned as he realized Draco Malfoy and Professor Snape were much closer than he realized. "I am not," Harry scowled at the bald-headed twit. "You're the one who tried cursing _me_ on the train! You ruined my brand-new book!"

He opened his mouth to say more but Professor Snape bellowed, "Silence!"

"Fortunately," Professor Snape continued as he pinched the bridge of his nose, "there is a simple way to verify your innocence Mr. Potter. Give me your wand."

"My wand?" Harry mentally made a note to buy Warrington a gift.

"Yes, your wand." Professor Snape snapped viciously. "Hand it over now Potter."

Malfoy was smirking as Harry unholstered his wand and laid it on the desk. He had to bite his cheek to keep a straight face as Professor Snape held up Harry's Hawthorn wand and incanted, _"Priori Incantato."_

Three different Wand-Lighting Charms drifted out of Harry's wand and Harry watched with growing pleasure as Malfoy turned pink and looked as if he was about to stomp his foot on the stone floor. "What is that Professor?" Harry asked, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from Malfoy.

Professor Snape didn't answer. Instead, he shook the wand and the ghostly spells faded away as he shot a ferocious glare at Malfoy. "You may go, Potter," Professor Snape sneered as he handed back Harry his wand.

"Wait," Harry demanded as Malfoy looked about ready to explode in the dim light Professor Snape's office, "so he can just accuse me of cursing him when he ruined my book?"

"I did n-" "Silence!" Professor Snape roared at Malfoy and then glared at Harry. "Potter leave now, I'll see that Mr. Malfoy replaces your book, which one was it?"

" _Curses and Counter-Curses Volume 2,_ sir," Harry lied smoothly as he glanced at Malfoy who was practically vibrating in an indignant rage.

"Fine. Leave." Harry didn't wait to be told again. Harry left so fast that he nearly ran into the group of his fellow first-years returning from breakfast.

"You're alive," Theo breathed a sigh of relief as Harry fell into step beside him, his whole body so light it could float away. "How bad was it?" He asked, gesturing to Harry's hands wish were still trembling a little.

With a large, smug smirk Harry looked at Theo and said, "Declared innocent and Malfoy has to replace my copy of _Curses and Counter-Curses Volume 2."_

"But I thought you had – oh," Theo gave Harry a broad smile and nudged him with his shoulder. "You continue to surprise me, Harry. C'mon lets head back to the common room until Potions."


	9. Chapter 9

_"_ _Nothing inspires forgiveness quite like revenge."_

 _–_ _Scott Adams_

Chapter Nine:

"Did you see his face?" Flora whispered loudly to Daphne Greengrass over her _Book of Spells_ tome.

The group of first-year Slytherins were gathered around the fire studying for their first classes, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts that they had after lunch. Harry was seated next to Theo on the floor, his Potions book propped up against a marble bust of Jessamine Johnson that was decorating the table. "Forget his face – did you see how his hair fell out?" Daphne hissed back as Flora's twin, Hestia – Harry learned – snickered loudly.

Theo caught Harry's eye and sent him a wicked grin. "Oh, shut up all of you," Pansy Parkinson snapped viciously as she glared at her housemates. "Draco was cursed for no reason, _while his back was turned,_ and probably by an older student. We could be next you know."

Hestia looked over the top of her _Guide to the Dark Forces_ tome, "Why would an older student use first-year curses? I'll tell you why because it _wasn't_ an older student. A first-year student cursed Draco and it wasn't any of the girls either. We were all in our dorm, which means that a first-year boy cursed him. I doubt Crabbe or Goyle could perform a simple charm let alone a curse so that means," she turned her sharp gaze to Harry and Theo, "That it was either Harry, Theodore, or Blaise."

The three named boys found themselves the subject of the rest of their peers' wary glances. "Oh budge off, none of us cursed him. Harry's already had his wand checked by Professor Snape and the rest of us were in our dorm," Theo told them hotly and the girls looked away, though the wariness never left their stiff postures.

"Well, whoever did it obviously didn't know that the Pimple Jinx and the Jelly-Legs Curse don't mix well together," Millicent Bulstrode broke the silence and then flushed an unflattering shade of pink when she found herself the subject of attention. "I heard Prefect Warrington telling Head Girl Farley that Malfoy would be ridden with pock-marks for a week and that the curse was exceptionally strong. They weren't very happy but they were impressed."

Theo kicked Harry under the table and sent him a look. Flora caught them exchanging glances and pulled Harry into the conversation, "What do you think, Harry? Did you see anyone in the common room with Draco when you left _before_ us?"

Ten pairs of eyes looked to Harry and he felt himself shrug, trying desperately to keep his face blank. "No," Harry swallowed when his voice cracked, "I mean he was alone but Malfoy really doesn't know when to shut up. Maybe if he spent more time paying attention to his surroundings and less time running his mouth he wouldn't have been cursed."

Blaise snickered at this, "I wonder if he even tried to dodge or if he just stood there like a frightened sheep and took it?"

The group dissolved into laughter as Harry closed his book. But when he moved it to place it back in his bag, Harry found a copy of the magical newspaper _The Daily Prophet_ underneath a few sheets of parchment he'd been taking notes on. He could only see part of the headline, _BREAK IN,_ but as he collected his papers his heart began beating very fast in his chest. The group's conversation faded into white noise as Harry read the full title.

 _GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST_

 _Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted nothing was taken. The vault in question, Number 713, had in fact been emptied earlier that day._

"Theo," Harry hissed as he elbowed his friend, shoving the paper towards his friend.

Theo's laughter died and his gaze turned serious, though also confused as he continued to read. "A break-in at Gringotts? That's never happened before –"

"That's the vault Professor Snape went to when _we_ went to Gringotts," Harry whisper-shouted as Blaise re-enacted a very realistic impression of how Draco had wailed by the fire.

Theo's furrowed brows rose high into his forehead, disappearing underneath his long curly hair. "Professor Snape went into _that_ vault? Are you sure?"

With a sense of dread settling in his stomach, Harry nodded. "Yes, I'm positive. He said the Professor Dumbledore had sent him for the contents of Vault 713."

Both boys lapsed into silence as they leaned over the paper, watching the goblins in the picture scramble about. "Something valuable enough to have been stored in Gringotts and now the third-floor corridor is off limits under pain of death. Something's going on Theo," Harry frowned as he sat back – all thoughts of his upcoming Potions class evaporating from his mind.

There was something not right at Hogwarts. What could Headmaster Dumbledore have that someone had actually broken into one of the most secure buildings in all the country? Did Professor Snape know what he had carried for the Headmaster? It was likely but Harry doubted the man would tell him if he asked.

"Alright, C'mon," Theo nudged Harry as he stood up and shook out his left leg. "If we're late to Professor Snape's class in front of Gryffindors you'll be wishing you could take Malfoy's place in the Hospital Wing."

Harry sighed and gave up on trying to guess what was on the third floor worth stealing – all he knew was that the Headmaster and Professor Snape had something someone wanted and that Theo was right. It wouldn't do to give Professor Snape another reason to be angry with him. He hated giving him a single reason in the first place but Malfoy had been practically begging for it. Together, the group of first-years made their way to the Potions classroom with the aide of Prefect Warrington who only said, "Good luck," before hurrying off to his own class. Five minutes early, the Slytherins were the first to arrive and had the freedom to choose whatever seat they wanted.

Harry and Theo took the front row on the left-hand side and left Pansy Parkinson arguing quietly with Daphne Greengrass over who would be paired with Millicent Bulstrode near the back. The Gryffindors entered only a minute before they would be considered late, noisy and boisterous as they fought over seats and swatted each other with their textbooks.

"I don't wanna be paired with him," the redhead Harry recognized as having dirt on his nose the night before, whined. "He's already managed to get us lost – Ay, Thomas be my partner yeah?"

"Sure Ron, but you're pulling your own weight," Thomas replied as they took their seats in the back of the class.

"Gryffindors," Theo muttered as the boy Ron didn't want to be paired with looked around with big, wet eyes. All of his housemates were pairing off and the boy ducked his head and sat alone at a table in front of Ron.

Harry felt bad for the boy but at that moment Professor Snape came swooping in like a bat, his robes billowing around him ferociously. The door slammed closed behind him and the professor marched up the aisle quickly. "There will be no silly wand waving in this class," Professor Snape sneered as a girl Harry remembered from the sorting, Hermione Granger, went pink and quickly moved to tuck her wand away. "As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle art of Potion making; the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron or the delicate power of liquids creeping through the human veins – bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses. I could teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death."

The entire room was leaning forward over their tables, perched on the edge of their seats enraptured by Professor Snape's soft but powerful voice. "As long as you aren't as big of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Theo and Harry exchanged glances, both excited to learn such powerful magic as they grinned at each other. "Potter!" Harry nearly jumped as Professor Snape swooped down in front of their table. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Before Harry could even open his mouth to answer, Hermione Granger's hand shot into the air so fast she nearly tumbled off her stool in attempts to prove she wasn't a dunderhead. Harry shot her a glare before saying, "The Draught of Living Death, sir."

"Good," Professor Snape gave him an approving look as Hermione Granger's hand went down in disappointment. "And where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

Once again Granger's hand shot into the air and waved around, trying to get Professor Snape's attention. She was raising it so high in the air that her bottom was nearly off the stool now. "I'd try an Apothecary first, sir," Harry watched as Granger's face went smug and she waved her hand, "but if they were sold out I'd gather one, from the stomach of a goat."

Granger's hand went down and she sat back with a frustrated frown. Her housemates were all snickering at her but she didn't pay them any mind. Professor Snape watched Harry with a scrutinizing gaze before he hissed out another question. "And what is the difference, Mr. Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

This time Granger's hand went up so high and with such force that her stool grated against the stone floor. Professor Snape's eye twitched violently but he never looked Granger's way. "Nothing sir," Harry replied as he thought over chapter seven of _One Thousand and One Magical Herbs and Fungi_ which had a really interesting subsection on the Wolfsbane Potion for Werewolves that Harry had found particularly fascinating _._ "Wolfsbane and monkshood are just two different species of the same plant – Aconitum, or Aconite."

When Professor Snape turned to the rest of the class Harry almost slumped in relief. Theo leaned over to murmur something but then Professor Snape hissed, "Well why aren't any of you writing any of this down?" At once everyone grabbed their quills until Professor Snape called, "Oh and Potter," Harry's head snapped up, "Ten points to Slytherin."

With a large grin, Harry realized he had become the first first-year to earn points for his house. The rest of his house cheered quietly as Ron, the red-headed Gryffindor groaned and Granger shot him a glare from her table.

"Today you will be brewing a simple cure for boils and pimples," Professor Snape told the class as he waved his wand. Instructions appeared on the board as the Slytherin half of the room erupted into loud guffaws of laughter, much to the confusion of the Gryffindors, and Professor Snape turned on his heel to glower at his snakes.

The laughter died instantaneously and Professor Snape's eyes glittered dangerously. "Since Mr. Malfoy is in the Infirmary and we have odd numbers," Harry felt his stomach churn, he didn't know where this was going but he was sure he wouldn't like it. "Potter, you'll be paired with Longbottom. The rest of you – find a partner."

Theo shot Harry a sympathetic look and moved to grab his bag. Harry glanced over and found the slightly pink boy with big, scared eyes staring at him. With a sigh Harry gathered his things and walked over to the Gryffindors side of the room, "You Longbottom?"

The boy nodded and refused to meet Harry's eyes. In hindsight, Harry realized he should have known that Professor Snape was punishing him. Longbottom didn't know how to use a mortar and pestle to grind snake fangs, he added the porcupine quills too early and turned the potion a bright neon orange, and instead of three drops of flobberworm mucus – the boy added nearly a whole tablespoon. The potion went a dark angry red color and Harry only just managed to duck out of the way as the concoction exploded all over the Gryffindor boy. Harry could only stare at his brand-new cauldron melted into an unrecognizable mess as the boy shrieked and broke out into angry red boils. The students were shrieking as the potion melted their shoes and damaged their robes and pant legs.

"How could you be so stupid?" Harry demanded as he waved to his twisted metal blob of a cauldron.

But Professor Snape swooped down on them in seconds as the boy wailed. Longbottom was sent to the infirmary and Harry was given a zero for the day. Trudging out the Potions classroom, Harry muttered darkly under his breath as Theo found the whole situation utterly hilarious. "You should have seen your face Harry," he wheezed, trying to calm his laughter as the two made their way up to the Great Hall for lunch. "You looked like you wanted to curse him!"

"I did want to curse him," Harry snapped back with a scowl. "It'll take at least a week to owl order a new one from Diagon Alley, first-years aren't allowed in Hogsmeade, and you heard Professor Snape – no repairing charm will fix that mess, only Alchemy could fix it; and with the way Professor Snape was grinning I highly doubt Alchemy is _easy._ "

"I say we corner Longbottom after we he gets out of the infirmary then," Theo plotted as they sat down at the Slytherin table.

"Look! It's Harry Potter!"

"Do you see his scar?"

"The Boy-Who-Lived!"

Harry shot the rest of the Great Hall a dark glare. He wished they gave it a rest already, each time Harry stepped foot outside the dungeons people craned their neck to look at him. They pointed, stared, and whispered about him and he wished they'd just leave him alone. Their blatant attention was unwanted as it only brought Voldemort to the forefront of his mind and he had more important things to worry about. Like how he was going to fix his cauldron. And cursing Longbottom the next time he saw the stupid boy.

If Harry had to name one reason why he loved being in Slytherin, it was because they didn't feel the need to point and stare. They talked to him, not about him – and they certainly didn't crane their necks to get a good look at him. Slytherin was full of heirs of ancient and noble bloodlines – they all saw themselves as people of great importance. What was one more important person to them?

The dungeons – as damp and cold as they were, were a safe haven from the rest of the school and the comfortable, luxurious common room felt like home after only a few days.

The second class of Harry's magical career was Defense Against the Dark Arts. The Slytherins moaned and complained all the way up to the second floor. Harry tried very hard to ignore the staring and pointing of the students as the group of first-year Slytherins followed Prefect Warrington up a staircase that he warned them led to the third floor on Fridays. They had to skip a step that would vanish under them and then take another staircase that moved as they were climbing it and ended up taking them to the fourth floor. After trudging back down two flights of stairs the group was more than grateful to just _reach_ the DADA classroom and the moans over Dark Arts at Durmstrang died out.

Harry and Theo claimed a table at the front as the Gryffindors filed in, looking excited after having such a lousy Potions class. Their loud boisterous demeanors annoyed Harry but he was thankful that at the very least, Longbottom wasn't there to mess anything up.

Professor Quirrell was an odd man, Harry found after only a few minutes of the man stuttering through welcoming them. He hunched over, his shoulders stooped as if to protect himself and he actually jumped at his own shadow when he turned to write on the board. But, there was something _intangible_ about Professor Quirrell that drew Harry's attention. He couldn't put his finger on it but while Theo rolled his eyes and mocked the professor when his back was turned, Harry found that his body felt warm – humming almost like it did whenever he held his wand.

There was something there, Harry was sure of it because by the time he left DADA – he was flushed and his hands were shaky. Adrenaline or maybe something Harry had no word for whatever pumped through him, making his eyes bright and his whole head tingle. Out of all the Slytherins, Harry was the only one who liked the terrified professor.

"Where are you going?" Theo hissed as he grabbed Harry's sleeve.

Harry looked back to the DADA classroom and then back to his friend, "I just want to ask a question. I'll catch up, don't worry."

But Theo did worry and Harry knew he was right to. They had all been plied with horror stories of first-year Slytherins who had been caught alone by older students. "I'm fine," he assured Theo. "Go on or you'll lose them."

Reluctantly, Theo let go of Harry's sleeve and said, "Be careful, Harry."

Harry nodded and turned back, making his way back down the corridor. He knocked once and waited until he heard Professor Quirrell's stuttering, "C-Come in!"

The DADA classroom was dimly lit but Harry found Professor Quirrell erasing his chalkboard. "Sorry to disturb you professor," Harry breathed, his body alight in a delicious warmth. "But I had a question."

"N-No p-p-problem at all, P-P-Potter," Professor Quirrell gave him a shaky smile.

"Well I was wondering," Harry stopped walking when he was just a few feet away from his professor, as close as he could get without seeming rude. "Is there a way to stop a hex or a curse – really just any magic someone throws at you without having to leap around like a frog?"

"Y-Yes th-th-there is," Professor Quirrell nodded and gathered his hands together, clutching them to his chest as he wrung them nervously. "Th-Th-There are sh-shield charms b-but th-th-they are v-very d-difficult, a-advanced m-m-magic."

Harry frowned but refused to give up. When Malfoy was out of the Hospital Wing he'd no doubt want retribution and Harry knew he needed to be prepared. "Would you teach me some? I promise I'll work very hard, Professor, and I swear I won't disappoint you."

Professor Quirrell looked at him oddly as he wrung his hands nervously. "Y-You w-want to l-l-learn th-the Sh-Shield Charm? W-Why, Mr. P-P-Potter?"

With a wry grin, Harry gave a shrug. "Malfoy won't be pleased when he gets out of the infirmary and he's convinced I'm the one who cursed him."

Professor Quirrell chuckled nervously and his lips curled up into a smile. "D-Did you curse him, Mr. P-P-Potter? B-Be honest."

Dropping his gaze and looking at his shoes, Harry found himself mumbling the truth, "Yes sir."

Once again his DADA professor chuckled and Harry looked up, surprised and excited to see no sternness or anger in his professors hazel eyes. He couldnt wait to tell Theo he had been right, that Quirrell was awesome. "D-D-Detention, P-P-Potter, f-for cur-cursing a f-fellow st-student."

Harry's smile dropped and he felt his jaw drop. His professor was punishing him? He hadn't expected that, even though the man was a professor and he was well within his rights...but still, there was a sense of betrayal of the comraderie Harry felt for the stuttering man. "But professor!"

"N-N-No b-b-buts, Mr. P-P-Potter," Professor Quirrell gave him a frown and Harry felt disappointment wash over him. Quirrell laid a hand on Harry's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Sorry, sir." He mumbled lamely, wishing he had never left Theo and the others.

"Y-You w-w-will report t-to m-my office," Professor Quirrell told him as he dropped his hands, "e-every W-Wednesday at s-ss-sss-ssss-seven o'clock until Yule b-b-break."

At this, Harry's head snapped up and he glared in outrage but said nothing, afraid to make the extreme punishment worse. There was no way this was fair and when Quirrell dismissed him, Harry fled the room in a rage. His whole body had ignited and the pleasant warmth now felt blistering under his skin. He wanted – he didn't know exactly what he wanted, a way to take out his anger or to destroy something, but his hands twitched and he wished desperately either Malfoy or Longbottom would show up. Each step he took, his rage grew.

"Look who made it back alive," Parkinson sneered as Harry marched into the common room with fury in his eyes.

"Hey Harry," Theo greeted him brightly from behind an ornate chess table where he was playing Blaise Zabini.

Harry stomped through the common room not bothering with replies as he made his way to his dorm. With surprising force, Harry threw his bag against the wall and collapsed on his bed – his body vibrating with rage. "Harry?" Theo's voice called out as he peered into the dorm. "Harry what's wrong? Did a student –"

"No," Harry bit out, his voice laced with venom. He was so angry that the world was bleeding red and just sitting still made it worse. His whole arms trembled and even though Theo was his friend, as the boy came closer Harry wanted nothing more than to throttle him. He wanted to beat him with his fists like a muggle just to feel his knuckles destroy something.

In all his life filled with hunger and beatings and Dursleys and Harry Hunting, Harry had never been so enraged.

"Whoa," Theo gasped when he saw Harry's body trembling. "You look like you need to blow off some steam. C'mon."

It wasn't a question, Theo grabbed Harry's sleeve and dragged him out of their dorm, through the common room where his house-mates stared at them, and into a corridor with only a single door. Being pushed in the room nearly made Harry snap and turn on his friend but when he spotted what looked like a row of weird dummies, he paused.

"What is this?" He ground out through clenched teeth.

"A dueling room," Theo answered as he removed his outer robe. "Mother told me about it so that I could practice my curses. Go on, get your robe off and have at one."

Harry de-robed stiffly and unholstered his wand before turning to the dummies. He wanted to tear it apart, to disintegrate it, to utterly demolish it but he didn't know how. The curses he knew were no better than pranks. "Do you want me to teach you some?"

Nodding stiffly, Harry watched as Theo pulled his wand. He slashed it almost violently through the air at an upwards angle and intoned, _"Flagrante."_

The dueling dummy burst into flames and let out wail as it burned with blistering pops and cracks. The metal it was made from scorched and charred – Harry grinned sharply. _"Flagrante,"_ He repeated, slashing his wand and his dummy caught fire – its metal arms raising and it let out a horrible shriek.

"Ready for more Harry?" Theo taunted as the dummies magically began repairing themselves. "Mother taught me a really nasty one if you think you have the stomach."

Harry snarled and set another dummy on fire. "Show me."

For hours they practiced. Theo showed off his repertoire of curses that was much bigger than Harry expected and he took to them like a fish to water in his rage. Dummy after dummy was destroyed as the boys broke them into pieces, attacked them animals, and smashed them into bits. After each brutal slaying, the dummies always repaired themselves and Harry burned through his rage as he cursed them.

Harry fell to the floor, exhausted and sweating, as his dummy wailed and then exploded into small chunks of metal that went flying. He waited as he panted for the dummy to repair itself, but it never did. It laid in grotesque chunks all across the room and Harry stared at it blankly as he felt the coolness of the dungeon wall through his sweaty shirt. His mind was clear now, he was too exhausted to conjure up even the tiniest spark of annoyance, and the haze of rage had dispersed.

Only, it hadn't been rage, Harry could see that now. His body shivered as the word bounced around in his mind. He didn't want to admit, he didn't want to even think it – but he was staring at the evidence scattered all over the floor.

"Merlin, Harry," Theo breathed in awe as he sat next to his friend. "I only knew the theory behind that one – mother would go batty if she knew I'd been in her private collection – but you actually pulled off a Transmogrifian Curse! Bloody hell…I don't even think my mother could kill someone with that curse. It's extremely difficult."

But Harry wasn't interested in the torture curse he'd learned. Nor was he interested in the completely destroyed dummy that he had killed by torturing it to death. Harry let his head fall back against the cool stone and stared at the ceiling.

That hadn't been normal. He had been angry, he had even been enraged before – but that, that had not been anything he had ever experienced before. That had been madness.

He had almost attacked his friend. He _had_ tortured a dummy to _death_. The world had been red and he'd been uncontrollable. He had been _mad._

Was he losing his mind like Voldemort had? Would he one day snap completely and harm his only friend? Was he doomed to be mad? There was no trigger Harry could find. He knew he'd been angry about three months worth of detentions but Harry had thought it took something great and horrific and traumatizing to lose one's sanity. How would he ever be a great wizard when he snapped over detentions? How could he ever be trusted with magic when he used it so destructively? When he had taken gratification and pleasure in killing the dummy?

What if one day he snapped and never came out of it?

"Harry," Theo cast a worried look at his friend. "You're not – angry with me, are you? It's just you blew through all the curses I know and I thought – I thought if you found one you couldn't do you might –"

"No," Harry croaked out, his throat aching and scratching. "I'm not _mad."_

"Harry?" Theo called his name again and Harry turned his head, feeling the rough stone wall scratching his scalp. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know," Harry replied honestly though his stomach churned. "I was fine, Theo. I went to ask Professor Quirrell if he'd teach me a Shield Charm and when he found out I cursed Draco he gave me a full terms detention. I was angry, of course, but it – it wasn't that bad. Honestly, I like Quirrell – when I'm around him my body kinda goes all warm and my head hums. But I lost it, like completely lost the ability to think or rationalize or – or –" Harry's voice cracked as his secrets came spilling out. He was too tired to think properly. "I almost attacked you just for being in the same room as me. I've never felt anything like it and I don't ever want to feel that way again. It was – it was terrible, like my soul caught on fire and I wanted to burn the entire school down."

"Do you think Professor Quirrell cursed you?" Theo asked and Harry felt his fondness for his friend grow.

"I honestly don't know."


	10. Chapter 10

_No matter how serious life gets you are still going to have that one person you can be completely stupid with._

Chapter Ten:

"You want me to do what?" Harry demanded in a stern whisper as he looked up from the thick tome in his hands, using a finger to push up his sliding glasses as he peered across the study table.

Cassius Warrington was slumped back in his chair, leaning back on two legs, and looking completely nonplussed. Theo, sitting across the table from Harry and sitting right next to Warrington with a wary expression, scoffed. "Did you not hear the part where the Headmaster said: _upon pain of_ _ **death**_?"

"Oh please," Warrington scoffed right back. "The Headmaster's barmy, he's always _so_ dramatic. Besides, you owe me for clearing your wand, Potter."

"He doesn't owe you a life debt!" Theo hissed furiously. "He could get killed!"

"Highly unlikely," Warrington shrugged and looked over his shoulder. Madam Pince was nowhere to be seen and he pulled a napkin full of chicken out of his pocket. "But if you do die you can always become Slytherin's second ghost."

Harry shot him a scowl but he couldn't deny that he too was interested in what was going on, on the third-floor corridor. It was so very tempting to just go take a peak, one look and then he could high-tail it out and back down to the safety of the dungeons. But the trek was long and would require him to not only go at night but to take stairs out in the open where any Professor or Prefect could catch him. And if he was caught, Harry knew he'd be in big, big trouble.

"C'mon Harry," Theo began gathering up his books. "We have to get to flying class before Warrington can think of any more _clever_ ideas to get you killed."

Harry, grateful for the opportunity to leave without committing to break at least a dozen school rules, stacked _Almanac of Alchemy_ and _Famous Transmutation Alchemists_ and stuffed them in his bag. He hadn't found anything useful yet to fix his cauldron but he would study them later and if he still found no way to fix it, he'd owl order a new one in the morning. "Catch you later," he told the prefect before chasing after Theo.

Flying was a lesson Harry was looking forward to, but after Theo had explained that they were learning how to fly on _brooms_ and not by their magic – his enthusiasm was dulled into mere intrigue. Apparently flying without a broom was one of those family magics that only a few possessed – the kind of magic muggle-borns would never be able to learn because they didn't come from a bloodline with abilities.

"Theo?" Harry called quietly as the pair made their way down to the main floor. Together they jumped the cursed step on the second-floor staircase and avoided the vanishing step at the bottom of the set of stairs. "Is there a way for – you know people like me who have no family to see if their bloodline has any family magic?"

Tossing him a sideways glance, Theo's lips curled into a smirk. "Let it go Harry – learn to fly on a broom like the rest of us peasants. You may have pulled off _that curse,_ " he emphasized the words and they both knew at once which one he was talking about – the Transmogrifian Curse that Harry had used to utterly annihilate the training dummy, "once, but you haven't been able to repeat it. Don't let it go to your head. Magic like that is powerful – much more powerful than we're capable of at the moment."

With a scowl, Harry shoved Theo and watched as the boy fumbled and got his foot caught on a stair that vanished. His bag went spilling all over the floor – pots of ink rolling behind statues and sheaves of parchment blowing across the stone floor in front of the giant wooden doors that had been left open to allow the cool autumn breeze in. "Dammit – that's my homework!" Theo snapped as he shot Harry a glare and began snatching up papers.

"Oh, come off it. It's not my fault you don't use a locking charm to keep your bag from spilling," Harry rolled his eyes and flicked his wrist. His wand holster released his wand and Harry gave it a wave muttering, _"Stipant."_

At once, Theo's books began to stack themselves neatly as the parchment scattered across the floor flew into the air and began organizing themselves into a neat pile. The quills and ink that had come spilling out all rolled back across the floor, retracing their paths as they came to sit neatly by the books. "There," Harry said with a note of irritation in his tone, "would you like me to pack your bag for you too?"

"Git," Theo muttered under his breath as he repacked his books into his shoulder bag. "Remind me next time to let Warrington talk you into suicide."

"You'd miss me," Harry told him confidently. "If I weren't here you'd be stuck with the likes of Malfoy or worse – Pansy Parkinson."

Both boys shuddered dramatically and grinned at each other as they walked out of the castle and began the trek down to the front lawn where the flying classes were being held. "Yeah well, as annoying and clueless as you are – at least you're interesting, Malfoy and Parkinson are as dull as a sack of rocks."

"So," Harry drawled slowly as they avoided a large puddle of mud that was bubbling and smoking suspiciously, "are you going to answer my question?"

"I don't know if I can," Theo admitted with an unrepentant smirk as Harry scowled in outrage. "You see mother has a large family tapestry which keeps records of family magic. I've never heard of any spell that can detect magic like that. You'll have to find your own family tapestry if you have one. A lot of light families don't have them – they marry for love, not power."

"So, I may or may not have family magic," Harry repeated monotonously as he tried to understand, "but the only way to know for sure is to find a magical tapestry that may or may not exist."

Theo shrugged as a huddle of gold trimmed robes came into view. "I suppose if you don't have one or can't find it you could always make one. I'm not sure how it's done though and if mother knew I was friends with you she'd likely pull me out of Hogwarts and send me to Durmstrang, so I can't exactly ask her either."

"What's wrong with being my friend?" Harry felt his muscles stiffen but he tried not to let it show much it bothered him. He must not have done a very good job because Theo gave him a sad smile. "I'm a decent enough wizard and you told me yourself the Potter family is just as old as the Notts and Malfoys."

"I told you, Harry," Theo gave him a friendly nudge with his shoulder, trying to coax out a smile and crack the tension that had fallen between them. "Mother's a traditionalist, she might not have the Dark Mark but if she found out how I befriended the boy who killed _him_ …"

Voldemort. Harry exhaled and expelled all the air from his lungs as they trudged across the grass. It always came back to Voldemort. He was the wedge between Harry and Theo – and Harry suspected the rest of his house as well, though they had never said anything. "Why _are_ you friends with me then?" He demanded as he slowed down, coming closer to the other first-year Slytherins and wanting to prolong their talk. It was the one question that had eaten at him since he had discovered Theo's ties to Voldemort.

Theo gave Harry an odd look and said, " _He's_ dead, Harry. It doesn't matter what happened in the past, it's _over._ "

A cold tendril of fear twisted around Harry's spine as his friend spoke. He wanted desperately to ask what Theo would think of their friendship if Voldemort was still alive but as he opened his mouth, his courage failed him. He didn't want to tell Theo that Professor Snape had told him that Voldemort was immortal – still alive even though his body had been destroyed. Or that he could return. Harry didn't want to risk losing their friendship – he didn't want to lose Theo. The boy was a fount of knowledge that Harry had come to rely upon in such a few short days and he _liked_ Theo. He was Harry's - not his mother's or Voldemort's - Theo was _his_ friend. "Right," he croaked out, his body numb and his mouth dry. "Of course."

As they joined the rest of their house in a group, their conversation died. But as Theo fell into a discussion on Quidditch, Harry stayed near the back – thoroughly lost in his own head. Voldemort wasn't dead and the only reason Theo was his friend, was because he thought he was. What if Voldemort regained a body? Would Theo turn Harry away? Would he become a Death Eater like his father and grandfather before him? Perhaps more importantly, what would Harry do if he did? He honestly couldn't say. He didn't even have time to ponder it long either because Madam Hooch arrived and her shrill whistle broke Harry out of his brooding.

"Welcome to flying," Madam Hooch called out, her yellow hawk-like eyes looking them all over as if looking for something. "Now, some rules. Until you all get comfortable on a broom none of you are to go higher than a few feet. You will raise up, get a feel for your broom, and then touch back down. Alright, enough talking. Each of you, stand next to a broom and say up."

Harry and Theo claimed brooms next to each other and across from Weasley and Longbottom. Harry narrowed his eyes at the boy who paled under his glare and looked to his feet as Madam Hooch motioned for them to begin. Harry dropped his gaze to the broom laying on the grass and said, "Up!"

Almost immediately the broom shot up into his grasp but it was the only one that did. Theo shot him a frustrated glare as his own broom rolled over. Harry snickered as Pansy's broom lay motionless and refused to budge for her. "Very good Mr. Potter," Madam Hooch called out with delight. "There may be some Quidditch talent in you yet. See here everyone, Mr. Potter will be one to watch for on the Quidditch Pitch, you mark my words."

At that moment Ron cried out as his broom came shooting up and whacked him in the face. The group of first-years snickered as he rubbed his forehead and kicked at the school broom. At the same moment, Longbottom's broom jumped into his hand and the boy wobbled dangerously from the force of the impact. Not long after, everyone managed to get their brooms up and they were finally free to mount and rise up a few feet in the air.

Harry was enjoying the feel of the wind in his hair a little higher than the others, though Madam Hooch never called him back down, when Longbottom's broom shot straight up into the air. The boy screamed in terror and Harry watched him spin uncontrollably for only a moment before he shot off after the dunderheaded boy.

"HARRY, NO!" Harry could only faintly hear Theo's cry over the wind rushing in his ears.

"MISTER LONGBOTTOM!" Madam Hooch screamed, her voice raising even over the gusts and Longbottom's terrified screaming. "MISTER POTTER! GET BACK DOWN HERE!"

But Harry kept flying, pushing his broom faster as Longbottom corkscrewed through the air. The exhilaration of flying so fast pumped through Harry's body as he ducked to avoid one of Longbottom's legs as the boy spun upside down. Quick as a flash, Harry caught onto Longbottom's robes mid-spin and pulled as hard as he could. "Let go!" Harry shouted and the boy let go of his broom just as Harry pulled.

Longbottom made strangled choking noises and his broom fell to the ground, cracking in half, just as soon as it was free. Harry, keeping tight hold of the monstrously stupid boy's robes as he dangled in the air making terrified squeaks and whimpers, flew fast to the ground and practically threw Longbottom on the ground as Harry spun in the air to a stop. The boy landed stupidly on his arse and then promptly fell back onto the grass in a dead faint.

There was cheering, a dull roar that he could barely hear over the rushing of blood in his ears, and Madam Hooch descended with a furious look. "Mr. Potter, that was incredibly reckless of you. Your first time on a broom and you think you can just jettison off?"

"But he was out of control," Harry whined, his gaze narrowed. "You didn't even have a broom and he was going to get himself killed."

"Be that as it may, there was no need to put two students in danger," Madam Hooch screeched like an owl as her hand shot out and grabbed hold of Harry's ear, "Professor Snape will determine your punishment."

Only the years of conditioning under the Dursley's brutal hands kept Harry from crying out as Madam Hooch pinched his ear so hard he felt like she might rip it off. "The rest of you will await my return with both feet firmly on the ground or you too will be marched to your Head of House."

Then she marched him into the castle and Harry tried to match her steps but his legs were short and her strides were long. She was practically dragging him through the halls as people pointed and whispered about him, his ear throbbing in pain as she kept it pinched tightly. Much to his horror, as they rounded a corridor corner that would lead them to the dungeons Professor Quirrell nearly ran into them – dropping his stack of parchments all over the floor. He stared at them with wide, disbelieving eyes as Harry glowered darkly at his flying instructor. "Oh, M-Madam H-Hooch, wh-what a s-ss-sssurprise. W-What h-happened?"

Harry wanted to rage out, he even had to quell the urge to stomp on her foot as her grip on his ear grew ever tighter. "Hello Professor," Madam Hooch greeted Professor Quirrell but there was irritation bleeding through which ruined her friendly greeting. "Mr. Potter here thinks he's above the rules. Another student lost control of his broom and Mr. Potter here took it upon himself to try and save the day despite knowing he was to stay where he was."

"You were just going to let him kill himself," Harry groaned as Madam Hooch yanked hard on his ear. "I was already in the air and I still have to get the git back for melting my cauldron, he can't die yet."

Professor Quirrell's lips twitched up into a faint smirk, "W-Would you l-l-like me to t-t-take him to P-P-Professor S-SS-SSSnape for you?"

Madam Hooch sighed and shook her head, "I think Severus will want to introduce Mr. Potter to Flint."

Harry could feel his face pale as his squirming stopped, his entire body went rigid. Flint? Was that some kind of student punishment for breaking the rules? The only flint Harry could think of was used to make fire. Would he be set on fire or burned for saving the Longbottom moron?

"I s-ss-sssee," Professor Quirrell gave a polite smile and with a quick whip of his wand his parchments flew into the air, organized themselves, and then tucked themselves neatly in his arms. "W-Well I m-must b-b-be g-going th-then."

Harry felt a stab of betrayal as Professor Quirrell walked away without ever looking back. It's not like he wasn't already angry with the man, but after what had happened the last time they had met Harry felt as if Quirrell owed him. He was almost sure he'd been cursed by his professor, for what reason he didn't know, but that _fit_ hadn't been organic. But he'd kept his mouth shut and now the professor was walking away as he was being led to an awful punishment. He felt a searing anger rise up and Harry decided he didn't like the man, not at all.

All too soon Madam Hooch and Harry were standing in Professor Snape's office and said professor was glaring down at Harry with glittering onyx eyes as he watched Madam Hooch jerk him forward by the ear. "What has the boy done now?" Professor Snape asked, his voice deceptively soft.

"Nothing so bad as to warrant that glare, Professor Snape," Madam Hooch replied and Harry's head snapped up in surprise when she let go of his ear. "I think I've punished him quite enough already, but the boy is a natural on a broom. I thought you'd want to know he saved the Longbottom boy from another trip to the infirmary with only sheer natural talent on a broom. The Slytherin's may be the House Cup champions but you haven't won the Quidditch Cup in over a decade."

Professor Snape looked from Madam Hooch to Harry with his brows raised, "And you think he could change that?" He sounded skeptical and Harry was right along with him because he hadn't the first clue as to how to play Quidditch.

"You didn't see him fly," Madam Hooch grinned proudly and cuffed Harry on the shoulder. "Boy's a natural and judging by how he grabbed Longbottom out of a corkscrew dive – and his small stature – he could be the seeker you need. Merlin knows Higgs could use replacing. When was the last time he even caught a snitch?"

Professor Snape hummed thoughtfully as Harry shot his flying instructor a glare for her jab at his size, "I do believe he managed to catch it against the Hufflepuffs once last year."

Without warning and faster than Harry thought possible, Professor Snape grabbed hold of a small glass ball sitting on his desk and tossed it at Harry. Quicker than lightning, Harry grabbed it and held it in his hands. To his wonder, there looked to be an entire galaxy of stars within the small glass ball. "I will speak to Mr. Flint," Professor Snape told Madam Hooch and Harry recognized the dismissal in his tone, "and Albus about making an exception for Mr. Potter."

Madam Hooch obviously recognized the dismissal too because she turned to leave, but she stopped and gave Harry a serious look. "Do our house proud, Mr. Potter." With that, she left – leaving Harry alone with his Head of House.

Professor Snape looked at Harry as he took back the small glass orb and placed it back on his desk in a golden stand. "You saved Longbottom?"

His incredulity made Harry stiffen in annoyance. "Well I wasn't going to let him kill himself before I could curse him for ruining my new cauldron," Harry explained again. "I still have yet to find an Alchemy book that _actually explains_ Alchemy. I've found loads on Alchemical achievements but it's like they don't want me to learn Alchemy."

"Indeed," Professor Snape raised a single brow as his lips curled into a secretive smirk. "Follow me, Potter."

Harry trailed behind Professor Snape as they wound their way through the dungeons and up towards the ground floor. His Head of House led him clear up to the third floor and Harry was struggling to keep up as he dodged the trick steps that Professor Snape seemed to have memorized and skipped with ease. They stopped outside of a door Harry had never seen before and as Professor Snape opened it, Harry heard the voice of Professor McGonagall.

"Minerva," Professor Snape drawled in slow, oily voice slick with what Harry could only interpret as triumph. "I need to borrow Mr. Flint for a moment."

When Harry peered out from around Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall's eyes locked onto him and her lips pursed into thin, angry lines. "Of course," she agreed but her tone was harsh and her gaze was stony.

A boy much taller and broader than Harry slid out of his seat under the furious gaze of Professor McGonagall. He was an older student, a fifth or sixth year at least, and Harry hadn't met him yet even though his robes were trimmed in green and silver, the Slytherin patch on his breast. "Professor?" The boy's tone a question as the door shut behind him. Harry grimaced at the boys awful yellowed teeth.

"Mr. Flint," Professor Snape nodded and looked at Harry. "This is Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter – this is Marcus Flint the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Flint, I would like you to take Mr. Potter and Mr. Higgs out tonight after dinner and see who is better. Should Mr. Potter win, I will talk to the headmaster about making an exception to the first-year rule."

Marcus Flint looked at Harry with a scrutinizing gaze. "You ever played Quidditch before, Potter?"

"No."

At this, the Quidditch Captain's brows furrowed together. "You even know the rules of Quidditch?"

"No."

Harry watched as the older boy scowled, "You ever even seen a Quidditch match?"

"No."

Professor Snape gave Flint a stern stare. "You will inform me of the results."

"Of course, sir," Flint agreed although he didn't look happy about it. "But we'll have to do it tomorrow night. Gryffindor has the field tonight for practice."

"I will write you a note," Professor Snape told him. "And Flint? I want this done quietly. Should the boy have talent I want him to be our ace up the sleeve. Do not let those mongrel spies catch wind of this."

"Of course, sir." With that Marcus Flint shot Harry one last scowl and turned back to re-enter his Transfiguration class. Harry caught a glimpse of Professor McGonagall's severe scowl just before the door closed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Quick Author's Note: This chapter is cursed. Three different times my MW quit working and deleted all my edits.**

 _"Three things cannot long stay hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth."_

 _\- Buddha_

Chapter Eleven:

"Well done Harry," Prefect Warrington sauntered over just as Harry's head was drooping. He nearly fell asleep in his eggs before he caught himself and jerked his head up and tried to open his eyes as wide as he could.

Last night he'd had a mountain of homework and when he'd finished his dreams had been terrible awful things. He'd woken up more than five times throughout the night and each time his scar had felt like it was on fire. But now, in the warm light of day, Harry could only remember a high-pitched laughter and the feeling of madness blistering his skin. "Morning," Harry replied groggily, pushing his eggs around.

"Well done about what?" Theo asked from beside Harry as Warrington made Blaise move over so that he could sit directly across from them. "What did you do now?"

Harry muttered something unintelligible and Warrington laughed, pushing a mug of steaming coffee to him. "Drink up, you're going to need all the energy you can get. Flint's just told me, I'm on the team too – a beater. It's my job to make sure the other team's seeker is too harassed to focus and to protect you from the same thing."

Theo turned to Harry with wide eyes, "You made the Quidditch team? But first-years never make the house team."

"It's just a tryout," Harry mumbled as he took a sip of the bitter concoction that scalded his tongue. "Ach, that is _not_ coffee."

"It's got a Pepper-Up potion I swiped from the infirmary in there," Warrington informed him with a sly smirk. "After you drink that you should be good to go for the day. Reluctantly, Harry took another large gulp with a grimace. "And he's right, it's just a try out but Madam Hooch told me all about how you saved that Gryffindor and you can't possibly be worse than Higgs. The only time he's ever caught the snitch was when I knocked the Hufflepuff seeker off his broom."

Harry gave a loud groan and tilted the mug in his hand, watching the steam curl before him. "I need like three of these," he said aloud to no one in particular. "I have Transfiguration, Herbology, Potions, Quidditch, detention, _and_ Astronomy. By the time I get back to the common room, I'll have a mountain of homework. I'll be lucky if I get to sleep at all tonight."

Theo and Warrington shot him pitying glances and the Prefect tried to joke, "Drink up Potter, sounds like you'll need it."

When Warrington left, Theo scooped more eggs onto Harry's plate. "You'll need the energy," he said, "and don't worry about the homework. If you sleep tonight you can wake up early tomorrow and finish it during our free block."

"It's surreal to think I actually care about homework," Harry groused grumpily. "Before Hogwarts, I never considered it a priority. Now, here I am worried about not having enough time to do it."

Theo hummed in agreement before switching the conversation, "So, what do you think Professor Quirrell will have you be doing for detention? I still can't believe you got away with cursing Malfoy and then _confessed._ "

Harry had to bite his tongue because he too couldn't believe it either. It had been one of his stupider moments and now when he looked back, hoping to befriend the strange professor made him cringe. "I have no idea," Harry responded honestly, "I'm just hoping that by that point, I'm able to stay awake."

Much to Harry's displeasure, Draco Malfoy had been released from the Hospital Wing and had been waiting outside of the Transfiguration classroom with his two trolls and Pansy. His hair had grown back and the only evidence of Harry's handiwork were the large pockmarks, deep purple rings all over his face. When he caught sight of Harry and Theo he pushed Pansy away and glared. But, just as Harry was getting ready for yet another round of Malfoy's arrogance, the boy lifted his lips in a sneer and walked past them – stopping just in front of Ron the Gryffindor who was flanked by two other Gryffindors.

Harry hadn't even noticed them coming up behind them.

"Malfoy," Ron spat out his name like Draco spat out _mudblood._ "Heard your own house can't even stand you – what's it like, being hated even by other slimy snakes?"

The two boys behind Ron snickered and, much to his surprise, Harry found his spine stiffening as the welcoming speech to Slytherin lurked dangerously close to the surface of his mind. When Malfoy faltered, the sneer on his lips dangerously close to failing, Harry stepped up to Malfoy's shoulder and his own lips curled. "You've obviously heard wrong. Malfoy and I were practicing our curses – but since you seem so interested maybe we could practice on you instead."

Harry didn't know who was more surprised but he felt Theo at his side and heard him inhale sharply – Malfoy, on the other hand, kept cool and his eyes hardened once again. "Harry Potter practicing curses?" Ron's eyes flashed angrily. "Never took you for a Dark wizard."

"Unlike some people Weasley," Malfoy drawled as his sneer transformed into a smirk, "Potter here actually has magical talent."

It took biting his tongue to keep his expression passive as Ron turned red and opened his mouth to shoot off a biting retort none of them would ever hear. At that moment the door to the classroom swung open and a tabby cat prowled out. "We should get inside," Theo told the group, "I've heard Professor McGonagall is a monster and I don't want to find out what she'll do if we're late."

"She definitely looked like a mean old hag," Harry agreed as they turned from the Gryffindors and stepped around the cat to enter the classroom. "Not someone I'd want to make angry."

"I heard she once took a hundred points from Slytherin when she caught a student out of bed," Pansy Parkinson offered up hesitantly, glancing nervously at Malfoy who didn't seem to care one way or the other that she was there. "Just so that Gryffindor would win the house cup."

"I wonder if we look her in the eye – you think we'll turn to stone?" Malfoy asked and the small group burst into laughter.

Even Harry laughed as he sat next to Theo in the middle of the classroom. The cat followed them in and hopped up onto the desk, sitting stiffly as it watched them. "Potter," Malfoy turned in his seat from beside Pansy, "Weren't your parents Gryffindors? Think she'll have a soft spot for you?"

"I doubt it," Harry shook his head, "you didn't see the way she looked at me. It was like she was trying to set me on fire with her mind."

"Oh please, Harry," Theo nudged his shoulder with a smirk, "as if Professor Snape would let the cow do that."

Pansy's eyes lit up as she leaned back against Theo's desk, "Who do you think would win in a duel? Professor Snape or Professor McGonagall?"

The group went quiet for a moment, considering and contemplating, before they all unanimously called out, "Professor Snape."

"McGonagall sure looks like a mean old hag but she's a Gryffindor," Malfoy drawled out confidently. "Professor Snape is well versed in the Dark Arts – you know he actually wants the DADA job? I couldn't think of a person more qualified to restructure our lessons into something actually decent but father says that Headmaster Dumbledore keeps refusing him."

Harry hadn't known that but he also found that it didn't surprise him either. Professor Snape had the demeanor of a wizard you didn't want on the wrong side of your wand. "Still," Harry sighed almost wistfully, "I'd pay to see a duel between McGonagall and Snape. I bet it'd be brilliant."

They all agreed such a duel would be well worth any spectator fees but other students began filing through the door and they all turned their attention to waiting for the Transfiguration professor. The Gryffindors took the left side of the room while the Slytherins sat on the right, evenly paired now that Malfoy had returned from the Hospital Wing. It was only once everyone was seated that the cat on the desk moved.

Harry watched it jump off the desk and his eyes widened as he watched the cat transform, in mid-air, into Professor McGonagall. "Great Morgana," Theo whispered from beside Harry, sounding every bit as frightened as Harry felt.

"My name is Professor McGonagall," she said, her lips turned down into a severe frown and her eyes glittered in anger as she swept over the class, narrowing on the small group of Slytherins who she had been listening to. "Transfiguration is one of the most difficult branches of magic, as such, any fooling around in my class and you will find yourselves not welcomed back. This is your only warning."

Harry gulped as her eyes landed on him, hard and furious. "Can anyone tell me what the four branches of Transfiguration are?"

This time, when Granger's hand shot into the air, Harry was relieved. He didn't want Professor McGonagall's fury directed at him. "Yes, Miss –?"

"Hermione Granger, ma'am," Granger beamed under the attention and then sat up even straighter. "The four main branches of Transfiguration are: Transformation, Untransfiguration, Conjuring, and Vanishment. However, there are also various sub-branches like: Human-Transfiguration, Trans-Species Transformations – which can include Cross-Species Switching (which is really quite fascinating), Human Transformations, Switching, and Summoning."

She said this all very fast, much to the bewilderment of not only her peers but also to Professor McGonagall whose scowl had turned up into a genuine smile. Harry didn't miss the way the Professor's stern eyes cast a glance at him and he scowled at being compared to the annoying girl who sounded like she swallowed her textbook. "Well done, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall praised with a fond smile, "ten points to Gryffindor."

The look Granger shot Harry made his jaw clench.

The class only got worse as it progressed. Granger was constantly called on and her long diatribes were awarded points even as the rest of the class groaned. Even the other Gryffindors were scowling by the time Professor McGonagall handed out matchsticks. Weasley had taken to mocking Granger, much to the amusement of the Slytherins, and when Harry turned from his freshly transfigured needle to help Theo – Professor McGonagall swooped down on Granger again. "Miss Granger, what an excellent transfiguration," she held up Granger's needle and awarded even more points to Gryffindor.

Harry glared at his own needle, feeling as though he had lost even when he hadn't intended to be playing.

Herbology was barely any better. Granger's hand was always in the air and the professors had taken to the know-it-all with bright smiles and eager eyes. Harry had never been one to raise his hand in class. He knew the answers, of course, but with Dudley in the room, Harry had always preferred to remain silent unless called upon. By the time Herbology ended and Gryffindor had earned more than thirty points, however, Harry was actually considering raising his hand – and dealing with the awkwardness – just to wipe the smug look off of Granger's face.

All of Slytherin was in a foul mood by the time they took their seats in Potions. Harry, Theo, and Malfoy were all scowling as they claimed their tables and the only consolation was that the Gryffindors seemed to hate Granger as much as they did. Professor Snape swooped in – not saying anything about Theo and Harry sharing a cauldron – and instead took in his angry snakes with curiosity shining in those obsidian orbs.

"Can anyone tell me," Professor Snape spoke quietly and yet somehow, it seemed to draw in all of their attention better than when Professor Sprout yelled out her questions. "what the main ingredient in the Forgetfulness Potion is?"

Harry very nearly burst into flames when Granger's hand shot into the air. He was so busy glaring at her that he nearly fell off his stool when Theo elbowed him in the ribs. To his surprise, Professor Snape was studiously ignoring Granger and Harry, though awkward and hating himself for it, raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Lethe River Water, sir," Harry replied, feeling an intense amount of satisfaction as Granger's bright smile crumpled.

"Correct," Professor Snape nodded, "and can you inform the class on how you properly gather the ingredient, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded, "It's best collected in crystal vials under the sun at its highest point – at midday, sir."

"And what is the best way to prepare the Mistletoe berries for this particular potion?" There was something challenging in Professor Snape's eyes that made Harry pause and reconsider regurgitating the textbook as Granger loved to do.

Because the book called for them to be dried and ground into a medium-fine powder. But - Harry's mind began to think about other, alternative ways, as Granger's hand shot up into the air – was there a better way? Professor Snape ignored the annoying swot and waited for Harry. "To crush them freshly plucked sir," Harry answered cautiously, "you'd need about eight instead of four, but if you strain them, using the juice instead, that would make the potion stronger as the Mistletoe and the Lethe water mixed better?"

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow, "Are you asking me or telling me, Mr. Potter?"

Harry's spine stiffened as he sat up straighter. "Telling you, sir."

Much to his relief, Professor Snape nodded. "Very good, Mr. Potter. Fifteen points to Slytherin for such innovative thinking." His tone was dry and sarcastic – as if they should all already know this - but Harry felt his lips curl into a proud smile and he flashed his teeth at Granger. Who had a delightfully puzzled frown on her lips.

Professor Snape moved on, calling on Malfoy as he studiously ignored Granger's ever-waving hand, and the class progressed. Harry left with his shoulders back and a smile curling his lips as the group of first-years made their way to the Great Hall. "I don't think I've ever disliked someone for knowing an answer," Harry grumbled as they navigated the labyrinth of dungeon corridors.

"Tell me about it," Malfoy mused from beside Harry and Theo, much to their surprise. "Granger seems to make it her life's work to frustrate those around her."

Theo and Harry shot each other glances but said nothing about Malfoy's sudden presence. "Every time her hand raises I swear I want to throw my book at her," Theo nearly growled. "It's like – it's not even that she knows the answer – it's how she's either wanting to prove she's better than you or waiting for you to fail. Morgana's tit, she's a nightmare."

It really wasn't a surprise when they entered the Great Hall and found Granger eating alone, looking absolutely miserable at the Gryffindor table. Theo and Harry took their seats, once more surprised when Malfoy took Harry's left-hand side. "Hello, Harry," Tracey Davis looked up from her charms tome as the three boys sat down in front of her. "Theo," she continued but then paused with an odd look, "Draco."

By now it was no secret that Harry had been the one to curse Malfoy and even Harry was a bit bewildered by the blonde's presence. Malfoy spared her only a nod before he once again returned to Granger, "I don't know what she's trying to prove. Everybody knows she only a…" he caught himself and Harry felt his muscles tense, "a muggle-born."

There was a tense silence as the other's waited for Harry's response. "She'll never be anything special," Harry agreed after a moment, "and she'll never make any friends if she keeps acting like this."

Everyone let out a silent breath of relief and Harry felt a sort of comradery fall between him and Draco Malfoy. They were both silently willing to comprise. Granger wasn't dirty or contaminated but she was, Harry had to admit, never going to be anything spectacular in the hierarchy of witches and wizards. Just like his mother, nothing was _wrong_ with muggle-borns per se, but they were the less powerful and Harry finally felt a sense of peace with that. If Draco could admit muggle-borns weren't dirty, foul things and actual people – then Harry could admit they were the less powerful.

"Alright Potter," Harry looked up from his mostly finished supper and found Flint standing over him. "You ready?"

With a hesitant nod, Harry stood. "Catch you guys later."

Following after Flint and a sandy-haired boy who he guessed was Higgs, Harry heard Malfoy questioning Theo about what was going on. He was lead out of the Great Hall and out of the castle, down the front lawns and over to the Quidditch pitch. "You'll be trying out for the Seeker position," Flint informed Harry as they walked, ignoring Higgs' furious expression. "Seekers are the most important players, Potter, because if you catch the Snitch, the game is over and you win us an extra one hundred and fifty points."

Harry absorbed all the facts Flint threw at him as they entered the Quidditch Pitch and found it empty. There were two brooms laying out and Flint motioned to them, "Alright you two, get up there." Flint pulled a small, shiny golden ball from his pocket and Harry looked at in fascination, it merely sat there for a moment before large, delicate wings unfolded and began to beat so furiously that they became a blur. The Snitch hovered over Flint's hand before it took off into the sky and Harry followed it with his eyes until it was much too high to see.

"Best out of five," Flint told them as they mounted their brooms, "winner gets the Seeker position."

The air felt wonderful in Harry's hair after being cooped up in classes all day. He took a moment to just enjoy the feeling of _flying_ – to let the stress of the day fall away until there was nothing but him and the open sky. "GET TO SEEKING POTTER!" Flint called from the ground, breaking Harry's delighted smile into fragments of frustration as he spotted Higgs circling the pitch already.

The first time Harry caught the Snitch, Higgs had been searching near the hoops at the far end of the field and never even noticed the glint of gold near the Ravenclaw stands. But the Snitch was tricky and liked to make a fool of those who could not spot it. The second time Harry caught it, he had had to fly straight at Higgs inconspicuously as the Snitch had taken to flying over the boy's head. Said boy was utterly furious when he realized it had been within his grasp the whole time and he had kicked Harry so violently that Harry had nearly fallen off his broom.

The third time Harry caught the Snitch in a dive that Higgs was too far behind to catch up. Harry had spotted it first and chased the Snitch across the pitch and down near Flint. He had come to a spiraling stop as he handed the Snitch back to Flint. Higgs had been nearly ready to draw his wand when Flint pronounced Harry the winner but much to his relief, Flint had pulled his own wand. "You really want to curse Potter for being better than you?" Flint growled threateningly. "You gotta get through me first."

Higgs had tucked tail and ran, but not before he leveled Harry with a nasty glare – the promise of retribution glittering in his eyes. Flint turned back to Harry with a sharp smile, "Welcome to the team Potter," he said, pulling a thick book from his pocket and shoving it at Harry. "Read that, it'll explain the game. Oh, and practice is on Fridays at six, don't be late."

By the time try-outs were over it was nearly seven which left Harry little time to celebrate his new position as he had to run clear back up to the castle and up the stairs. By the time he reached Professor Quirrell's classroom, it was one minute till seven and Harry barged in, afraid he was late and unable to breathe. Professor Quirrell had jumped nearly three feet in the air when Harry had burst in – red in the face and heaving loudly.

"Sorry – Professor –" Harry gasped and tried to suck in lungfuls of air even as his chest felt like it were on fire. "Quidditch – long – run."

"I take it you made the Slytherin House Team then?" Professor Quirrell inquired. Harry could only nod in reply as he sank into a chair, utterly exhausted and trying to calm his racing heart. "Congratulations Mr. Potter, though next time I do expect you here ready to work. You have already wasted five minutes trying to regulate your breathing. Are you ready to begin?"

Harry's head was spinning but he nodded and hauled himself up off the chair with nothing but sheer force of will. His body ached and protested but he stood straight and tried to keep his heavy eyes open after the adrenaline in his system faded. "Very well, the Shield Charm I will be teaching you is the most basic one – however, given that you are only a first year, I do have concerns that even this is beyond you. We will see. The incantation is ' _PrOH-te-gOH'_ and because this is a charm, your wand movement will be Pauper's fifth, though I doubt you have even heard of Pauper yet. So, pay attention, I will show you."

Harry forced his eyes as wide as they would go as Professor Quirrell stepped next to him and whipped his wand in a wide but startlingly exact loop that didn't close properly. Harry unholstered his own wand and mimicked the movements. "No, no," Professor Quirrell tutted, "You must keep the flourish that Charms are known for without being sloppy. Bend your wrist not your hand, this bone here," Professor Quirrell ran a finger down the outside of Harry's wrist and his body went warm, making it extremely difficult to focus, "is your Ulna, it should curve under your Radius as you loop your wand."

Harry tried again, fighting to keep his eyes open. His entire body was buzzing and content, like he was back in front of the fire in the Slytherin Common Room. He desperately wanted to curl up and sleep but he forced himself to focus, to think about how wrong he had been about Professor Quirrell – who was actually teaching him advanced magic! He had sworn he'd be a studious, hard-working student and now he had to live up to that.

"Yes exactly," Professor Quirrell nodded in approval as Harry tried once more to twist his hand as he'd been shown, "but remember to keep your wand movement short – it should be a sweeping circle not an oval."

Harry tried once more and when Professor Quirrell gave him a small, approving smile none of the aching in his tired body mattered. "Very good, Mr. Potter. Now try it with the incantation. You should ideally think of your circular wand movement as three separately divided pieces. At the top, you start with _PrOH,_ at the lowest portion of your wand movement should be the soft _te,_ and as you come up and close off your circle you should end with _gOH._ "

It was only then that Harry realized he'd been missing something blatantly obvious from the very beginning and he felt both extremely embarrassed and puzzled. "Professor, you said the Shield is a Charm, why does it use a counter clockwise wand motion like a Transfiguration?"

"Ah," Harry was rewarded with another small, approving smile and Professor Quirrell's shoulders straightened out as he stood tall. "For most Charms, intent and creativity are key to success. However, for Shield Charms, the magic is less about creativity and forgiving swooping motions. The intent is still a very large factor, in all magic, however, there is also a considerable number of other factors, such as viciousness and wand power – which, as I am sure you are aware of by now, are both very big factors in Transfiguration."

Harry nodded, soaking up the knowledge and once again practicing his wand movement. "So, it is both a Charm and a Transfiguration?"

Professor Quirrell hummed thoughtfully with his head cocked to the side before he said, "I suppose you could think of magic as a spectrum. The more precise and logical magic is Transfiguration and it would be on the left. The more artistic and flexible magic is Charms and it would be towards the right side. Shield Charms lay somewhere in the middle, encompassing both Transfiguration and Charms. Magical Protection is a branch of magic that is entirely its own, however, at Hogwarts, it is watered down and clumped in with Charms."

"But why is it not its own class?" Harry looked up at his professor with a frown. "Magical Protection sounds like a much more useful class than _flying_."

Professor Quirrell looked down at Harry with a puzzled look, "I thought you enjoyed flying, Mr. Potter. Did you not just become the youngest seeker in a century?"

Harry flushed hotly under the scrutiny and rubbed the back of his neck. "You know about that?" He gave a weary sigh and leaned back against the desk, relaxing his aching muscles in the warmth of Professor Quirrell's company. "I was really excited when I heard we had flying lessons, but then I learned it's flying on a broom and not, you know, _flying._ I really don't care much about Quidditch or sports in general really. I was just kind of told to do it."

Professor Quirrell moved to stand opposite of Harry and leaned back on a desk, crossing one leg over the other under his purple robes. "So why then, do you not refuse the offer?"

Only the fact that his professor looked genuinely confused stopped Harry from biting out a harsh laugh. "I'm not exactly popular amongst my peers Professor," Harry admitted with weariness bleeding through his tone. "Most of Hogwarts won't stop craning their necks to look at me but they won't talk to me and I only have one friend in my own house. Most of them are leery of me too, though they hide it better."

"So, you think that by playing for the house team, your fellow Slytherins will like you more?" Professor Quirrell's head was cocked to one side and he was leaning forward slightly, studying Harry as if he couldn't quite grasp what he was hearing.

"When you say it that way it sounds lame," Harry groused, the flush of cheeks darkening. "It's not that I really need friends. I've never really had any before so I don't mind being alone much. But I guess I was hoping that if I won a few games people would start seeing me and not Voldemort or war or whatever it is they see when they look at me."

Professor Quirrell inhaled sharply when Harry said it, everyone always did. Voldemort's name was like the 'M' word in the Dursley house. No one liked to speak of it, but Harry was never one to be scared of a name. "I guess it's foolish really, I just don't want to be known as the toddler who defeated _him_. I don't really see any reason to be proud of the fact that a wizard went mad and destroyed himself. It's all just sad and I want to forget it ever happened but Voldemort just keeps appearing everywhere – my wand, my house, my friend. Sometimes I can't stop thinking about if he sat in the same chair as me or checked out the same book, one night I couldn't sleep because I kept wondering which bed had been his in the Novice dorms."

With a heavy sigh, Harry looked at his shoes, completely mortified by the stinging in his eyes and furiously blaming it on how exhausted he was. "Other times I can't help but think about how he's all alone out there somewhere, lost to some kind of madness and all of his _loyal_ followers in Azkaban. Most of the time I just wish I could stop thinking because I can't do anything. I can't even fix my bloody cauldron."

Professor Quirrell laughed, soft and airily, making Harry look up. "Fix your cauldron?"

"Neville Longbottom melted it Potions class – he's such an idiot!" Harry explained with a scowl. "I've been looking into Alchemy to fix it but all I ever find are documentation of discoveries not how to actually _do_ Alchemy."

It infuriated him how Professor Quirrell's lips twitched in amusement but then he leaned in with a conspiratorial grin and said, "Mr. Potter, Alchemy is not taught outside of the Guild. You must first apply to become an apprentice before you may learn its secrets."

Harry very nearly screamed in frustration. All week he had been searching and Professor Snape had known it! He had known and he had let Harry dig through dusty tomes on the search for a Panacea and the creation of the legendary Philosopher's Stone – he had let Harry waste all that time when he should have just ordered a new damn cauldron. Did he like to see Harry suffer?

"Go to bed, Mr. Potter," Professor Quirrell gently pushed Harry's sagging body towards the door. "I will see you next Wednesday at seven and I do expect you to be fully alert next time."

Harry nodded, his eyes heavy and his body sagging under the exhaustion. "Good night, Professor."

"Good night, Mr. Potter."


End file.
